


Eyes on the Surprise

by peroxideblonde



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cute, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One True Pairing, Temporarily Unrequited Love, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peroxideblonde/pseuds/peroxideblonde
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov lives for surprises. It’s why he chased the unpredictable Katsuki Yuuri all the way to Japan. But what can Viktor do to shock Yuuri into recognizing his true seductive abilities and stunning the judges with his Eros routine?Pining with fluffy payoff. Begins around episode 4. Viktor's POV.Open for requests.





	1. Chapter 1

Viktor Nikiforov has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. It’s unsightly, unprofessional, and un-Russian. Born during the dying days of the Soviet Union but raised and coached by those who remember, Viktor has always found masking emotions second nature. As far as the world is concerned, he’s never disappointed, angry, sad, or frustrated. He’s always happy, flirty, and ready to put on a show. It’s not a defense mechanism so much as an inherited bad habit he can’t shake. Viktor’s a people pleaser, and, like everything else he sets his mind to, he’s good at it.

Incredible though it is, Viktor’s desires have never really conflicted with what other people want or expect of him (save his competition on the ice). All his family and coaches ever asked of him was success, and he was eager to comply. Viktor Nikiforov: people pleaser extraordinaire. He’ll figure skate on the moon if you ask him. It’s always been a private point of pride.

Until now.

From what Viktor can tell, Katsuki Yuuri’s very near his antithesis when it comes to presentation. Yuuri’s the Japanese figure skater prone to very un-Japanese displays of violent emotion. He cries at the drop of a hat and he blushes brighter than borshch if Viktor so much as touches him. He’s a nail-biting, hyperventilating, binge-eating, often sleepless bundle of insecurity and anxiety. And he once got sloppy drunk, stripped to his boxer briefs, and did a hot little number on a pole for a banquet hall of scandalized world-class figure skaters before grinding on Viktor and begging him to be his coach.  

Naturally, Viktor aimed to please. So he put his career on hold, packed up his life, and moved to Japan. In retrospect, perhaps he should’ve at least called the excitable Yuuri before moving into his parents’ bathhouse inn and announcing, naked, he had decided to fulfil Yuuri’s request. But calling in advance was not something Viktor had even seriously considered at the time. It would’ve ruined the surprise.

The welcome Viktor had received was a greater surprise to him than he supposed his arrival had been to Yuuri. Yuuri had appeared anything but pleased, suffering an anxiety attack and refusing to even let Viktor into his room. It was several days before Yuuri so much as looked at him.

Later, when Yuuri had warmed up a bit but was still nowhere near as scorching as he had been the night of the banquet, Viktor had asked Yuuri how he envisioned their relationship for the course of the figure skating season. “What do you want me to be to you?” Viktor had asked as they admired the Hasetsu seaside and avoided one another’s gazes. “A father figure?”

“No,” Yuuri had replied at once.

“A brother, then? A friend?”

“No.”

Viktor’s heart had soared. “Then your boyfriend, I guess,” he had said, trying to sound nonchalant. It was a daunting prospect, but it was what he knew they both wanted. “I’ll try my best.” Yuuri’s reaction to this conclusion had surprised him. 

“No, no, no, no, _no_!” Yuuri had cried, blushing as he bounced with anxiety. “I want you to stay who you are, Viktor!”

So, for the first time in his life, Viktor’s wishes are in direct competition with the interests of someone about whom he cares. He’d done his best to hide his disappointment in the moment, flashing the famous Viktor Nikiforov smile and promising Yuuri he would be what Yuuri wanted him to be. Nothing has ever upset Viktor more. It keeps him awake at night as he reviews photos from last year’s banquet. Photos of him in Yuuri’s arms, Yuuri looking deep in his eyes as they faced off and danced the Charleston, Yuuri’s legs wrapped around a pole, Yuuri pouring champagne over himself. It’s hard to believe this is the same Katsuki Yuuri who scrambles away from Viktor’s advances or freezes and becomes mute if their gazes connect. The same Katsuki Yuuri who, when he thinks of eros, thinks of pork cutlet bowls.   

Yuuri, for all his bashfulness, is slowly driving Viktor mad on and off the ice. It’s not Yuuri’s fault, Viktor tells himself. It’s not Yuuri’s fault he doesn’t seem to understand the simmering potential he has. It’s not his fault he’s a clueless little heartbreaker. Viktor blames himself for ever thinking Yuuri could know how he makes Viktor feel. Yuuri’s not being _mean_ , Viktor insists when he’s alone and tearful. This isn’t all the result of an act of cunning. Yuuri didn’t seduce him that night _just_ to get Viktor to be his coach. Yuuri had no way of knowing Viktor would even _like_ a masculine strip tease, let alone temporarily lose his mind somewhere in the region of his heart.  

-

It’s evening and Yuuri’s in the onsen recovering after an especially gruelling day on the ice. Not because Viktor’s vengeful, but because he knows Yuuri needs the practice to build his confidence jumping and develop the on-ice sensuality they’re striving for. And, if he’s totally honest, Viktor likes seeing Yuuri sweat.    

Viktor’s sitting at a table in the empty restaurant. He pulls out his mobile and sees he has a message from Georgi. They weren’t close when they shared the rink in Saint Petersburg, but since Viktor moved to Japan and Georgi doesn’t feel like he’s living in his shadow anymore, a long-distance friendship has developed. Georgi mostly complains about missing Anya, but he sometimes provides guidance on how to manage Yuuri. Viktor knows he’s probably wanting to talk about Anya since it’s so late in Russia.

> _Hows things? Yakov sends his love._

Viktor smiles and tries to imagine Yakov blowing him a kiss. He can’t manage it. It’s easier to imagine Yuuri doing it, since he has already. That night.

_Could be worse ^_^;,_ Viktor replies. He’s picked up some kaomoji from Yuuri.

> _Well is he at least any more confident since he beat a 15 y old? Gopnik came back pissed_

It’s been a few weeks since Yurio left Japan following his defeat at the Onsen On Ice competition. Viktor’s had nothing from Yurio but a few e-mails containing links to automatic malware downloads disguised as Yves Saint Laurent sales and a blank postcard from a Russian pig farm.

Viktor thinks about how Yuuri has made progress, but he still expresses confusion about how he’s to seduce an arena of spectators. _Debateable_ , Viktor types.

> _He still acting like the banquet never happened?_

_Yes_. Viktor closes his eyes. Yuuri isn’t cruel, he’s just shy, he tells himself. He doesn’t know how Viktor longs for them to enjoy what they did that night. The careless fun, the sharing of the limelight, the touching…

> _& have u asked him about it? If it was a one-off or…_  

_No_ , Viktor hasn’t.

> _Why not_

He doesn’t want to emotionally blackmail Yuuri into behaving a certain way. Yuuri’s anxious and desperate to please, so it’d work. Sure, Viktor had had expectations when he arrived in Japan. He had expected they would pick up right where they had left off despite the months of radio silence. A spontaneously combusting fire doesn’t need to be fed, after all. It’ll light up all on its own.

Or, like a firework, fizzle out no matter what you do for it.

_It’s complicated -_-#_

What an understatement.  

> _Ur social anxiety twink bottom being shy isnt complicated whats complicated is Anya she said its over but if its over then why did she look at me like that when_

Viktor stops reading and puts his mobile face down on the table.

He’s in a foreign country where he doesn’t speak the language, he’s coaching for the first time in his life and his protégé is struggling, and the man of his dreams won’t reciprocate his attentions. And he’s not training for the first time in over two decades. Viktor drops his head in his arms and tries not to let the despair overcome him. This wasn’t a mistake, he tells himself. Yuuri _is_ getting better, and as his confidence on-ice grows, so might his confidence off-ice…  

There’s a hand on his shoulder. “Viktor,” a soft voice says. Viktor looks up. Yuuri’s gazing down at him, blushing. He retracts his hand. “Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

Viktor smiles, because he can’t help it when he sees Yuuri’s spiky wet hair and foggy glasses. Yuuri _touched_ him! And it wasn’t even necessary! “Hi Yuuri,” he says. “I guess we should get to bed, shouldn’t we?”

Yuuri turns redder. “Uh, yes. I’ll go to mine and you can go to yours.”

The smile slips from Viktor’s face before he can stop it. He hadn’t meant it like _that_ , but that Yuuri had wanted to specify… “Of course.”

Viktor pushes his chair back and stands. For once, Yuuri doesn’t take a step back right away when they’re so close. It’s a small surprise, but Viktor will take it. They’re standing face to face and Viktor’s trying not to think about how easy it would be to pluck Yuuri’s glasses from his nose and wipe them for him. Or to lean forward and kiss his lips.

“You didn’t come to the onsen tonight,” Yuuri says, still without moving.

“No,” Viktor agrees. Sometimes, it’s too difficult to be so close to Yuuri when they’re both naked. He knows onsens aren’t like that, that they’re like the banyas back home, but he sometimes forgets when Yuuri drops his robe and walks into the water. It’s easy to imagine other scenarios.

Yuuri’s swaying with fatigue and his yukata is slipping from his shoulder. Viktor smiles and turns away, leading the way through the restaurant to the rooms beyond.

“We’ll start practice an hour later tomorrow since I have to pick up my laptop from the shop,” Viktor says. “But we’ll go an hour later in the evening to make up for it.” 

“ _Again_?” Yuuri asks, yawning.  

“Yes. Again.” Viktor smiles harder.

-

Glass-hearted. That’s how Viktor thinks of Yuuri. Like if he falls too hard, he could break. So Viktor wants to dance him down, soft and gentle, not sweep him off his feet.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's warming up a little, but still nowhere near as scorching as he was in Sochi. Viktor strives to be critical and supportive while coaxing out the full erotic power of his inhibited protégé.

Most days, Viktor feels like a bull in a china shop. It wouldn’t be so bad if that famed heart of glass had something better protecting it.

Yuuri’s not much shorter than Viktor, so he’s not insubstantial. Viktor knows this because he knows all Yuuri’s current dimensions: height barefoot, height in skates, neck, chest, shirt length, shoulder width, arm length, wrist, waist, hip, seat, inseam. He knows these because the costumes Viktor wore when he was sixteen needed to be altered before Yuuri could wear them for his performances. They had gone to the tailor’s together, and Viktor had watched as another man touched Yuuri in ways Viktor could only dream of touching him. Like the melody of an inspirational song, Viktor had memorized the proportions of Yuuri’s body without trying.

Though Yuuri’s tall, he _looks_ smaller than Viktor. Sure, his bones are finer and his muscles aren’t as big, but that’s not why Viktor feels like a giant next to him. It’s because Yuuri shrinks when he’s anxious, which is most of the time, as far as Viktor can tell. Viktor can’t pin exactly what he does that makes Yuuri uncomfortable, but he suspects it might have something to do with the night Yuuri asked him to be his coach.

Viktor has always been notoriously private in the public eye. Yakov thought it best; the Russian government doesn’t smile on flamboyant male figure skaters divulging too much about their private lives, even if they are five-time World Champions. So there’s the possibility Yuuri _still_ doesn’t know Viktor’s genuinely interested. Maybe Yuuri thinks Viktor’s just bi-curious. The very idea rankles Viktor, but he can’t think of a suave way of telling Yuuri this would-be assumption is wrong. “Ah, Yuuri, remember that night you danced my heart away? You can keep it,” doesn’t seem right. Neither does, “Yuuri, when you said you didn’t want me to be your boyfriend, I cried myself to sleep for a week.” And still not, “Not even vodka could purge the memory of you saying pork cutlet bowls are the most erotically tempting thing you could think of with me sitting right across the table from you, so Yuuri, please, spare my liver and let’s date.”

So Viktor suffers in silence and cherishes the small things. Like how Mrs. Katsuki treats him like a second son and, when no one else was around, sat down and taught Viktor everything he was doing wrong with chopsticks.

“You’re doing a wonderful thing for Yuuri,” she had said in English worse than Viktor’s as she adjusted his fingers higher on the utensils. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”

This had surprised Viktor to the point he wondered if something had been lost in translation. Yuuri was happy? Yuuri, who had gnawed his thumbnail to the quick yesterday after Viktor told him he thought his footwork was getting sloppy because he was focusing too much on the jumps to come? Yuuri, who actually _trembles_ when Viktor corrects his posture? Yuuri, whose anxiety is written in a universal language on his face every day?

If there’s one good thing about Yuuri’s over-expressive face, it’s that Viktor can tell things aren’t as bad as they once were.

- 

_On my way back from the repair shop now_ , Viktor texts as he hurries down the street, his laptop case tucked under his arm. He’s been there so often he worries Yuuri will think he has some sort of criminal predilection.

> _At Ice Castle_ , Yuuri replies after a few minutes.

Already? thinks Viktor.

> _See you here?_

Viktor feels guilty. He knows what Yuuri lacks in natural talent he makes up for with astounding discipline. He’ll skate away the whole day until his feet are cramping and still think he hasn’t practised enough, especially after receiving criticism.

Viktor hasn’t been in Japan all that long, but he’s realizing he needs to work on his communication skills. In Russia, people are more direct than in Japan. If there’s a flaw, the courteous thing to do is to point it out. It’s how you help people improve. And the more you love someone, the harder you are on them because the better you want them to be. Viktor assumes the same holds for Japan, at least when it comes to coaching, but he hasn’t mastered how to deliver the news. It doesn’t help that Viktor’s English makes an ordinarily blunt man positively brutal by Japanese standards. So every time he tells Yuuri he’s done something wrong, he has to deal with Yuuri’s red face, downcast gaze, and slumped posture.  

_Soon!_ Viktor replies. _I’ll bring snacks Y(^_^)Y_

-

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls from the bench when he arrives at Ice Castle Hasetsu. He waves Yuuri over, unable to keep a smile from taking over his face. He can tell Yuuri’s been working hard by the faint flush in his cheeks. It takes a lot to tire Yuuri, but he’s panting when he joins Viktor off the ice. 

“Thanks,” Yuuri says when Viktor hands him a takeaway cup of miso soup. He slurps it without looking at Viktor. Viktor bites the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning like a fool; the steaming soup has fogged up Yuuri’s glasses. He’s not eros material at the moment, but he _is_ adorable. That he can do _both_ , the cute and the sexy, never ceases to amaze Viktor. 

“Is your computer fixed?” Yuuri asks when he’s done, wiping his mouth. Viktor stares a moment too long, smiles, and looks away.

“Yeah, all the malware’s been removed,” he says.

“Are you downloading things you shouldn’t be?” Yuuri asks, smirking as he looks at Viktor out the corner of his eye.

Viktor blinks. That was unexpected. “Uh, no, it’s just—Yurio—ah, never mind. It’s not important. How’s your practice so far?”

Yuuri mutters scathing self-criticisms as Viktor laces up his skates.

“Why don’t you show me?” Viktor asks, leading the way onto the rink. He’ll never get tired of the rumble of blades over scarred ice. Yuuri hesitates. “Go on, seduce me.” Again, he thinks. And again, and again, and again…

His Eros routine is getting better, but it’s still not what Viktor knows it can be. Viktor knows Yuuri makes music with his body. He’s known this from the moment he saw the silent viral video that clinched his ticket to Japan. But Yuuri’s unspoken call to him was just the tip of the iceberg; his first proposition was screaming loud.

“Here, come here,” Viktor beckons Yuuri when he’s done. Yuuri’s glowing from his recent exertions, but he skates over to Viktor without hesitation. “The way you’re channeling sensual emotion is better, but it’s not what I _know_ you can do…what _we_ know you can do.”

“We?” Yuuri asks, cleaning his glasses with his sleeve. Viktor can’t help it. He snatches Yuuri’s glasses and cleans them himself with the hem of his shirt.

“Honestly, how do you see through these things?” Viktor asks, holding them up and squinting through them. The rink blurs beyond recognition.  

“The better question is how I see without them,” Yuuri says, laughing.

“Well, they aren’t helping you see how perfect this routine is for you,” Viktor murmurs, guiding the frames carefully onto Yuuri’s face.

“Viktoru—” Yuuri cuts himself off and claps a hand over his mouth, clearly mortified.

Viktor can’t help himself. “That’s so cute!” he exclaims. Yuuri always calls him Viktor. Vik if Viktor’s lucky. “What did you call me?” 

Yuuri mumbles something.

“What?” Viktor demands, grabbing Yuuri’s wrist and trying to pull his hand from his mouth. Yuuri resists. 

“Viktoru,” Yuuri whispers, blushing deep red. His fingers splay across his face.

“And what’s that?”

“It’s just how we pronounce your name in Japanese.”

Yuuri’s English is better than Viktor’s. It makes sense; when he wasn’t travelling the world for competitions, Viktor spent all his time in Russia training. He was homeschooled and spent more time at the rink than at the books, not that Russia’s schools are known for producing English competence. In contrast, Yuuri lived in America for five years. The only time Viktor hears Yuuri speak Japanese for any length of time is with his mother, since everyone else but the triplets has passable English and they don’t want to cut Viktor out of the conversation. Sometimes Viktor catches himself staring at Yuuri’s mouth as it goes a mile a minute, trilling off multisyllabic English words like it’s nothing. Then he starts thinking about Yuuri’s tongue, and he has to stop there.

Right now, Viktor’s excited by Yuuri calling him the Japanese interpretation of his name. It means Yuuri’s spent a lot of time thinking about Viktor in the privacy of his Japanese thoughts and even imagined saying his name a lot, or he’s talked to other Japanese-speaking people about Viktor when he isn’t around. Either way, Viktor likes the possible implications.

“Viktoru…” Viktor says, releasing Yuuri and tapping his mouth. He always uses the Russian pronunciation of Yuuri’s name, but now he wonders if he should try harder to say it the Japanese way. It’s probably cuter.

“Forget I said it,” Yuuri mutters. “It’s just what my mother—”

“You were talking about me with your _mother_?” Viktor asks, giddy.

“No—I mean—yes, well—ah—” Yuuri is beyond flustered.

“Does she like me?” Viktor asks. He already knows she does. He can tell. She was the first one to welcome him into the Katsuki home. Even though they could barely communicate, she clothed and fed him right away, watching him with wide eyes as he devoured her cooking and then passed out on the floor in the middle of her restaurant.

“Of course!” Yuuri flounders. “I mean—”

“ _Of course_?” As in, Why should she not? As in, How could anyone not? As in, I, Katsuki Yuuri, like you, Viktor Nikiforov, so _of course_ my mother likes you too?

Just how did Yuuri mean that? 

Yuuri’s cheeks are brighter than a matryoshka doll’s and he looks like he wishes the rink would melt and drown him. Viktor can’t tell why. Frankly, he’s ecstatic Yuuri’s given the first indication of so much as _fondness_ since that night…  

Viktor seizes Yuuri by the shoulders and spins him around. “I like your mother,” he says. “She’s a lovely lady. Fantastic cook. Taught me to use chopsticks the right way.” And she raised _you_ , Viktor thinks. A world-class figure skater and pole dancer. _Where_ had Yuuri learnt to do that all on a pole, anyway? Detroit? Minako’s ballet studio in Hasetsu is too conservative for that, Viktor checked. Phichit might know. Viktor makes a mental note to ask him. “All the love in the world to your sweet mother, precious Mrs. Katsuki.”

It’s shortly after this that Yuuri initiates unnecessary physical contact for the second time since Sochi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exam time so I'll be AWOL if I know what's good for me. But I'll be back! And do please let me know if there's anything in particular you want to read as long as it's at most PG-13 :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor does some sleuthing into Yuuri's past in an attempt to find sources of inspiration. He is very surprised.

He touches Viktor’s head. There’s no reason for it, but in the middle of practice, when Viktor’s pretending to clean the snow from his skates as he fights to catch his breath, Yuuri touches him.

“I’ve thought this for a while, but your stamina’s really impressive. Maybe your nervous eating during competitions keeps you going,” Viktor jokes, panting. He must be getting out of shape with all his lounging lately. And Mrs. Katsuki’s cooking. There has never been a point in his life before now that Viktor would ever have considered himself _out of shape_ , since there’s never been a point in his life before now when he wasn’t constantly training hard, watching what he eats, never a moment of true relaxation or fun… It’s an embarrassing novelty, and he loves it. “And also the fact that you haven’t had any major injuries, and you’re younger than me—”

Yuuri puts the tip of his index finger to Viktor’s hair and rests it there a moment before retracting his hand hastily. Viktor forgets what he was saying.

Why did Yuuri do that? He mustn’t see the top of Viktor’s head very often, but why _touch_ it?

“I just couldn’t help it!” Yuuri cries. His cheeks are crimson. “Sorry!”

“Is it getting that thin?” Viktor asks, feigning despondence.

“No, no, no, it’s very thick and shiny!” Yuuri shakes his head vigorously. Viktor can tell Yuuri’s appalled by his impulsive move, but Viktor couldn’t be happier. It’s about _time_ , he thinks. It’s about time Yuuri started treating him like a friend, at the very least, and not just a coach.

Viktor decides to milk this for all it’s worth. “You have wounded me,” he says, crumpling to the ice. He’s almost got his breath back, but not quite. “I don’t know if I will _ever_ recover.”   

A second later, Yuuri is kneeling on the rink next to him, performing dogeza, an uncommon Japanese act Viktor knows simultaneously begs his forgiveness and demonstrates Yuuri’s complete submission. Viktor grins into the ice. 

-

> _How goes it with Japanese Yuri?_ Georgi asks that afternoon.

Viktor’s sitting rinkside, snacking on a protein bar and watching Yuuri out the corner of his eye as he goes through messages on his mobile. Since it’s morning in European Russia, Viktor guesses Georgi isn’t obsessing over Anya at the moment. Well, not more than usual, anyway.

 _Getting better_ , Viktor replies. 

> _Gone on a date yet?_

They get meals and shop together often enough, but Viktor knows none of these outings are _dates_. He closes his eyes and thinks about what it would be like to hold Yuuri in his arms again. What it would feel like to kiss him. He blinks, dizzy.

_No_

> _& ur still in Japan? _

_Obviously_ , Viktor replies. Georgi commented on his latest Instagram upload, a blurry picture of Yuuri’s rocky triple axel landing, yesterday.

> _Japanese Yuri owns ur sorry gay @ss xaxa_ , Georgi writes. _Ur whipped_.

Viktor doesn’t deny it, even to Georgi.

It had started as infatuation. That gorgeous guy, that life of the party, that dirty dancing freak with the abs of Adonis, wanted to live with him? Viktor? Really? Viktor has no illusions about himself. He knows he’s weird and comes across at best gauche in any culture if he isn’t wearing his celebrity skin. He also knows he’s attractive and accomplished and good at pretending he’s debonair. But Yuuri spent enough time with him, the _real_ him, that night in Sochi it must have been apparent Viktor’s not just the man on the podium. And if Yuuri couldn’t tell then, he definitely knows by now. Just like how Viktor’s accepted Yuuri is an impulsive, socially awkward bundle of frayed nerves.

Before he came to Japan, Viktor was convinced the Yuuri he saw on ice was an act while the Yuuri he danced with at the banquet was the real Yuuri. And then he met Yuuri sober and realized what he’s like 99% of the time: anxious, depressed, and painfully shy. It hasn’t changed things for Viktor, because he knows what it’s like to be multifaceted. No one’s a perfect caricature, and Yuuri’s no exception. Yuuri’s the real deal, and he never fakes it.

Even when he’s at his worst, Yuuri still captivates Viktor. He’s fragile and sweet, and he makes Viktor want to hug and protect him while at the same time teach him how to cope with the real world and succeed on his own. In short, Yuuri’s a perfect paradox, and Viktor’s moderately obsessed.

 _Guess that makes 2 of us_ , Viktor shoots back, then opens a different conversation.

The real reason he pulled up WhatsApp on his phone is because he’s hoping Phichit’s returned his text asking about whether Yuuri took pole dancing lessons in Detroit. It’s challenging to decipher all Phichit’s English textese and typos, but Viktor gets the gist.

> _yeh_ , is Phichit’s reply. It’s last night in Detroit. Viktor hopes he’s still up, because Phichit’s response generates more questions than it answered. _He looked 4 a dance hall like minakos cuz u no… ~anxitey~… but he cdnt find 1 close enuf 2 where he lived_
> 
> _so wehn i met him i looked around 4 him n like i always wanted 2 do pole dancing but its not rly a thing for men back home so teh 1st place i picked had a pole fitness class lololol_
> 
> _i signed up n hes a good frnd so he came 2 “support me” @ 1st but by like the 2nd lesson he was on a pole 2_
> 
> _he was a natural n loves dancing ne way if u gt him drnuk enuf_

Viktor tries not to laugh at the idea of the inhibited Yuuri he sees now walking into a pole fitness class for the first time.

 _So he liked it?_ Viktor prompts. He crosses his fingers Phichit will reply before the end of Viktor’s snack break.

> _its rly gud 4 core strength building_ , Phichit replies immediately. _so sticking wit it didnt take much convicng. yuuris always wanted 2 b as gud as u_
> 
> _p sure it blew his mind 2 dance wit u in sochi lololol_

_?_ Viktor’s heart is pounding.

> _like his lifes dream_
> 
> _he had posters of u in our apt in detriot_
> 
> _not that i complained but ther were a lot lol_

_!!!?!!!_ Viktor had his suspicions, but he was never certain Yuuri was a fan until now.

> _OMG DONT TELL HIM I TOLD U_
> 
> _I THOGHT HE WOLD OF TOLD U BY NOW_
> 
> _VICTOR NIKIFOROV U PROMIS ME_
> 
> _LIKE ITS BAD ENUF IM TALKIN ABT HOW HE DANCED HIS WAY THRU AN UNDERGRAD_

Viktor is staring at his phone in disbelief, a hand over his mouth.

 _Are you telling me Yuuri got PAID to dance?_ Viktor asks after a moment. He holds his breath.

> _VICTOR_
> 
> _AHHH DO U 2 NOT TALK ABT NE THING?!???!?!1111_
> 
> _hes rly good at it as u no n well american college is like lots of $$$ even wiht scholarsihps n it gets cold in winter in michigan so we kinda needed a way 2 pay the bills u no?_
> 
> _ahhhh yuuris gonna kill meeeeee_

There is a massive chapter—at minimum five years’ worth—of Yuuri’s life not covered in Mrs. Katsuki’s photo albums, Viktor realizes. He knows this because he got to see a comprehensive collection of Yuuri chubby baby pictures within a week of arriving in Hasetsu, much to Yuuri’s horror.

Fair enough. It’s not like Viktor shares everything about his past either.

 _Did he like dancing for money?_ Viktor asks. Detroit isn’t _that_ cold.

> _Loved it_

_щ(_ _゜ロ゜щ)_ , is all Viktor can muster. He feels a blush creeping over his nose.

> _he doesnt like 2 talk abt it wit ppl back home tho bc he thinks it would bring shame on his famly so maybe keep it on the DL_

Viktor has to look up what “keep it on the DL” means.

Maybe that’s why Yuuri never told Viktor. Maybe.

 _Of course_ , Viktor replies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On hiatus until February because exams.
> 
> As always please let me know if there's anything special you want me to put in here. I'm setting up for existing requests now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a nail-biter.

Blood, sweat, tears, ruptured tendons, eating disorders, poverty, catfights, depression, anxiety. In a good figure skating performance, not a sign of any behind-the-scenes struggles can be seen. So nobody but the innermost circle of Saint Petersburg’s figure skating community knew Viktor Nikiforov won his second World Championship on broken first and second metatarsals or that, for a while, a younger Yuri Plisetsky was determined to perform the longest disappearing act known to man. It would ruin the illusion of perfection upheld in artistic sports.

Viktor’s been keeping a close eye on the ones he thinks will make it to the Grand Prix. Today, on his break, he’s reviewing Otabek Altin, an eighteen-year-old dark horse from Kazakhstan. Otabek doesn’t have much in the way of social media, but Viktor found some YouTube videos of him practising last year. He’s got his earbuds in so Yuuri won’t hear what he’s doing. There’s no use in stressing Yuuri out any more than he is naturally. Viktor can screen the competition and give Yuuri the Coles Notes.

Otabek is a compact, muscular young man. He lacks Yuuri and Yurio’s artistic grace, but he’s undoubtedly an _athlete_. His jumps are high and clean, and his spins are fast. He looks sullen and a little haggard in the video, but denies water at the end. It must have been filmed during Ramadan, but despite the fact he hasn’t eaten or drunk anything all day, Otabek kills his routine. Viktor tilts his head, tracing his mouth with his finger. Otabek has formidable potential, Viktor can tell. He closes the video and looks up. Yuuri is watching him from where he’s standing on the ice by the boards.

“What’re you watching?” Yuuri asks after Viktor pulls out his earbuds.

“Your competition,” Viktor replies, pocketing his mobile and standing. Yuuri pulls off a glove and his fingertips jump to his mouth. He chews on his index fingernail as he watches Viktor. “Don’t worry,” Viktor says. “You can’t beat them now, but you’re nowhere near your peak yet. I have complete confidence you’ll be on more equal ground later in the season.”

By the way Yuuri’s eyes tighten at the corners and his face gets pinched, Viktor can tell he’s said the wrong thing. He’s always saying the wrong thing. He tells himself to stop being so brutally honest. Not to lie, exactly, but he doesn’t need to run his mouth every time he opens it. It isn’t good for Yuuri’s mental state.

“Ah, Yuuri, you’re bleeding,” Viktor says. He rummages in his pocket for a plaster as he berates himself inwardly. He bought a box of Hello Kitty plasters a few weeks ago when Yuuri’s nail biting got out of control. He hadn’t intended to encourage it just now. “Come here.”

Yuuri steps off the ice and lets Viktor take his hand. He’s gnawed away most of the nails on his bleeding fingers, and his cuticles are a mess. “You really shouldn’t bite your nails,” Viktor says quietly as he straightens Yuuri’s fingers and admires them. They’re long and slim, but their ravaged nailbeds make Viktor wince. “Your hands would be very beautiful if you didn’t. And the hands can be every bit as important to a routine as the feet.”

Yuuri’s face is red as Viktor bandages his finger for him. “I don’t even know I’m biting them,” Yuuri says after a moment. “I think I do most of it in my sleep.”

“Maybe we’ll have you wear mittens to bed, hm?” Viktor asks. He still hasn’t let go of Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri isn’t fighting him for it. “Or,” he adds thoughtfully, “maybe we should get you a manicure.”

“A _manicure_?” Yuuri demands, looking uncertain.

“Sure,” Viktor says. “You can get a strong shellac. In a neutral tone, or go bright if you want.” Yuuri flushes darker, and Viktor smiles. “It might stop you from biting when you’re awake, anyway. I used to paint my fingernails all the time when I was younger.”

Yuuri looks at the Hello Kitty plaster on the tip of his finger, then slides his glove back over his hand. “I’ll think about it,” he says, and glides onto the ice. Viktor follows him, thinking about glitter and piglets and Japanese flags on Yuuri’s fingertips.

-

Viktor has been frenemies with Christophe Giacometti for years. They shared many Grand Prix Finals coloured by athletic rivalry and sexual tension, culminating in a drunken Beijing smooch on a hotel rooftop. After Viktor, breathless and swaying, had broken off the embrace, Chris had smiled and, in classic Chris fashion, declared, “How unexpected. I don’t think we’re suited for one another, _cher_ Viktor, but you’ll make another man _very_ happy someday.”

Since Viktor stepped out of his skates and into an oversize pair of coach’s shoes, he and Chris have enjoyed something close to unadulterated friendship. Viktor’s still a little sore when he thinks about how Yuuri held Chris during their pole dancing routine for part of the evening in Sochi, but he feels better when he reminds himself Yuuri finished the night holding _Viktor_ and asking _him_ to come to Japan.     

It’s hard to tell whether conversations about Yuuri with Chris are any better than those with Georgi. Where Georgi is easily sidetracked from giving adequate advice by his ruminations on Anya, Chris tends to focus better but give terrible counsel.

_He’s still acting like he likes and fears me_ , Viktor whines that night, thinking of how Yuuri had blushed when Viktor took his hand earlier that day. It’s afternoon in Switzerland, and Chris responds right away.

> _& did u do what i told u?_

_What, reintroduce myself naked? We covered that. Brilliant idea. He looked at me like I was INSANE._ Viktor still feels the sting of humiliation when he remembers how he unabashedly bared his full body to Yuuri and offered him his hand the day he arrived in Hasetsu.  

> _no, the other thing obvs_

Viktor sighs, rolling over in bed. He won’t let Chris off easily tonight. _You mean asking to sleep with him?_

> _no, the OTHER thing_

_You mean asking him if he wants me to be his boyfriend?_

> _no, the O T H E R thing_

_NO CHRIS NO_

> YES VIKTOR YES
> 
> _trust me_
> 
> _uve been dealt a wild card, so play it wild right back_

_That’s the worst advice for dealing with Yuuri I’ve heard yet_ , Viktor replies. After several months, he’s certain Chris’s blatantly sexual approach to life will never get Viktor anywhere with Yuuri.

_I’ll do it my way from now on_

_Thanks for all your help_

> _aw okay then_
> 
> _keep me posted hot stuff_

_Sure thing_

-

“Yuuri,” Viktor says the next evening. They’re setting out for a walk by the seaside, because Viktor misses the birds. Yuuri is devouring a nail. Viktor gently tugs Yuuri’s hand from his mouth, heart pounding. “Stop.”

“Oh,” Yuuri murmurs. It’s obvious he was unware he was doing it. “Sorry.”

Viktor doesn’t release Yuuri’s hand. He laces their fingers together and lets their hands hang by their sides, between them, as they walk. After a few steps, when he knows Yuuri must realize Viktor doesn’t intend to let him go, Viktor holds his breath and glances at Yuuri out the corner of his eye. Yuuri’s eyes are shining and his cheeks are bright pink, and Viktor can’t tell if it’s because it’s windy or if it’s because Yuuri is pleased to be walking with him hand in hand through the streets of Hasetsu.

Viktor smiles into the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always thought Yuuri and Viktor’s relationship develops earlier and more extensively in the show than we're shown on-screen, especially given the ample background clues. I don’t think their first kiss happens in front of the world. Viktor’s a showman, but he’s also a private person in many ways in my opinion. So this fic will reflect that (*^‿^*)
> 
> Also, in case you’re not familiar with some of the non-English terms used, I’ve started a glossary:
> 
> cher (French) – dear  
> gopnik (Russian) – low SES, anti-social young man; a chav (pejorative)  
> xaxa (Russian) – haha


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get mani-pedis (special thanks to xXYour_DoomXx for the suggestion!!) and Viktor discovers a surprising benefit of Japanese left-hand traffic.

Viktor only ever took off two days per year in Russia: Orthodox Christmas for himself, and Yom Kippur for Yakov. The year Yakov and Lilia divorced, Viktor had an extra day off.

Before coming to Hasetsu, Viktor didn't know the meaning of “taking a break”, for even on Christmas and Yom Kippur, Viktor went over routines in his head while listening to his programme music on repeat. He’s decided today’s the day to stretch the limits of his—and probably Yuuri’s—comfort. In more ways than one.

It’s early morning when Viktor plods into the restaurant in his pyjamas and slippers, Makkachin on his heels. Yuuri’s already dressed and sitting with a plate of tamagoyaki and small bowl of shredded daikon. Viktor yawns and slides onto the cushion across from Yuuri, who’s ignoring his food and ruining yet another fingernail. He’s still wearing the latest Hello Kitty plaster Viktor stuck on him. Makkachin flops at Viktor’s elbow.

“Good morning,” Viktor says, because Yuuri hasn’t said anything. They never talked about holding hands last night, even though they didn’t let go until they’d finished their walk and returned to the ryokan.

“Morning,” Yuuri mumbles past his finger.

There’s no hesitation this time; Viktor leans forward and plucks Yuuri’s fingernail free.

“What did I tell you?” Viktor says, smiling. “You need to stop this.”

Yuuri looks confused as he stares at Viktor’s hand grasping his. “What?”

“Stop biting your nails.” Viktor won’t release Yuuri unless Yuuri gives an indication he wants it.

“Oh. Right. Sure.”

“Have you thought about what I said?” Viktor presses.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about a manicure?”

Yuuri bows his head and blushes. Viktor can’t tell if it’s because he’s thinking about a manicure or if it’s because Viktor still hasn’t let go of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri mutters something.

“What?” Viktor asks, stroking the back of Yuuri’s hand with his thumb. It feels nice to do it, the way petting Makkachin floods Viktor with quiet happiness.

“I want to get a manicure,” Yuuri murmurs, blushing harder. “And—” he glances at Viktor from beneath his eyelashes— “a pedicure.”

Viktor draws Yuuri’s hand to his cheek and holds it there. “I’m so glad!” Viktor cries. “I booked us an appointment at the Pink Lotus for this morning.”

“You _what_?!”

“You’ll love it there, it’s where I go to get waxes—they have such calm music, Yuuri, you could sleep—and the décor is really something—not to mention the staff, so friendly! I signed autographs for half an hour the first time I went, and the owner promised me a return discount!”

Yuuri just stares at Viktor for a few seconds. He looks like his mind has floated onto another plane of existence. When he returns, his voice is weak. “But this morning? I thought we had the ice booked.”

“Yes, this morning!” Viktor is excited. He had worried he would need to cancel, but Yuuri came through as hoped. “Now finish your breakfast, we’re having a spa day.” 

-

After years of fame, Viktor’s grown accustomed to the stares, the fawning, the special privileges. The propositions. He’s used to them, but he doesn’t take then for granted. He bows low when the owner of the Pink Lotus, Mr. Koizumi, greets him.

“Ah, and you’ve brought our own Katsuki Yuuri!” Mr. Koizumi says. “What an honour!”

Viktor knows Yuuri is very uncomfortable when he’s recognised. It might be worse than usual today since they’ve come for mani-pedis. Yuuri looks like he’s imploding.

“Yuuri’s had some trouble with weak nails,” Viktor explains. “It’s probably all the cold exposure.”

“Undoubtedly,” Mr. Koizumi agrees. He takes Yuuri’s hand and scrutinises his nails. “And a bit of a biter, I see.” Yuuri hangs his head. “Not to worry,” Mr. Koizumi continues, “the girls will have this sorted in no time. Nail biting is a common problem. We’ll get you something natural and durable, what do you say?”

Yuuri looks relieved. He nods. “Yes, please.”

“And for you, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Viktor smiles. He knows exactly what he wants.

-

Yuuri’s hands are restored. They’re beautiful. Viktor can’t even tell the nails are fake. He keeps glancing at Yuuri’s hands as they pay.

Everyone else admires Viktor’s hands.

Viktor’s natural fingernails (maintained by a weekly routine of clipping and filing, the cuticles pristine after an uninterrupted decade of regular trimming and daily moisturising) are glittering gold. His toenails, hidden inside his silk socks and Greggo Flats, are also gilded.

Viktor smiles when he thinks about Yuuri’s toenails, which are stuffed inside moisture wicking athletic socks and his battered trainers. They’re adorned with Yuuri’s pink-cheeked spur-of-the-moment pick from a laminated design card supplied by one of Mr. Koizumi’s talented estheticians: cupcakes. Viktor suspects the months of dieting have been hard for Yuuri, though he hasn’t complained.

They leave the Pink Lotus, and while Viktor is pleased with the results of the morning’s excursion, he realises he’s made a great sacrifice: he doesn’t have an excuse to hold Yuuri’s hand anymore.

“We still have half a day of freedom,” Viktor says as he steps into the street. He’s thinking about asking Yuuri on a proper date. “What do you think about—”

Yuuri grabs Viktor around the chest and drags him backward into a bear hug. Viktor, frozen in surprise, stands there and quietly rejoices. Yuuri’s embrace is tight, almost desperate. The palm of one of his hands rests in the middle of Viktor’s chest.

Can he feel Viktor’s heart thundering against his ribs?

A car whooshes past.

“Viktoru, you need to look _right_!” Yuuri all but yells. “How’ve you lived here so long and you _still_ forget that?!” He squeezes Viktor tighter.

“Uh…” Viktor’s forgotten literally every word of English he knows.

“Do I need to ban you from going out without an escort?!” Yuuri continues. He’s the most passionate Viktor’s ever heard him since that night in Sochi (except for the time he hugged Viktor mid-panic attack at the Onsen On Ice competition, but this is different). It doesn’t matter that Yuuri’s angry. Viktor knows Yuuri’s angry because he _cares_. “I won’t have my coach struck down because _he doesn’t know how to cross the street_!”

Viktor swallows. Is he really just a _coach_ to Yuuri? A ticket to a Grand Prix gold and nothing else?

Yuuri’s hand still presses into the centre of Viktor’s chest. His chin, whether he realises it or not, is nestled in Viktor’s shoulder. If anyone saw them as they are now without context, they would think they were lovers indulging in a very public display of affection.

No, Viktor decides. He’s not just Yuuri’s coach. He never has been, not for either of them.

“Sorry,” Viktor says. He puts a hand over Yuuri’s. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Yuuri sighs, his breath playing over the sensitive skin of Viktor’s neck. It’s a subtle sensation but it feels like heaven. Viktor turns his head, his lips close to Yuuri’s cheek as he gazes at him. Yuuri's hair smells good.

“It’s not your fault,” Yuuri says, calmer. His glasses fog with Viktor’s breaths. “I did the same thing a few times in America. I got hit once, actually. I’m sorry I yelled.”

Viktor doesn’t want to move, lest Yuuri come to his senses and break his hold.

“I’ll focus more in the future,” Viktor promises. “But maybe you should hold my hand for now, in case I do anything else stupid.”

Yuuri releases Viktor, but he’s slow to do it. “That’s probably a good idea,” he says softly, and slips his hand into Viktor’s. He’s trembling, so Viktor gives him a reassuring squeeze. They both know what this is about, even if they aren’t ready to say it. “Where are we going now?”

“I’m taking you to lunch,” Viktor says, and leads the way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to QuinnDom15 for the idea of Viktor sneaking into Yuuri’s bedroom at night! …This may become a habit for our dear love-struck Russian.
> 
> Feat. heavy feels and some Yurio snark.

Lunch is a date. Viktor can tell by the way they talk about everything but figure skating. They talk about Russia (“I really must take you to the Bolshoi when we’re in Moscow, Yuuri, I know you’ll love it”), growing up in Japan (“Wait, _what_ does _kancho_ mean?!”), names (“So, uh, does anyone ever call you anything but Viktor?”), fashion (“Nail polish doesn’t have a _gender_ , Yuuri, and even if it did, what’s wrong with being girly?”), and dogs (“I took this picture of Makkachin the other day where he looks just _stunning_ , here, look… No, not that one, the other one. No, the other one…”). They don’t talk about the future, but Viktor’s content with the present for now.

Viktor doesn’t even remember what he eats. It doesn’t matter.

After lunch, they go to a park and Yuuri teaches Viktor how to play renju. Viktor’s overwhelmed by the rules and Yuuri beats him three times in a row, even though Viktor can tell Yuuri’s going easy on him.

“Most of the renju world champions are Russian,” Yuuri chides, closing the renju app on his phone. “I thought you’d be better.”

It takes Viktor a moment to realize Yuuri’s joking. Viktor nudges Yuuri playfully with his shoulder. “Shhh…” he murmurs. Yuuri sways and glances at Viktor out the corner of his eye, smiling. He says nothing.

They walk through the park holding hands, even though there are no cars.

\-  

Yuuri cooks a lot, and he’s good at it. He gets it from his mother and he tells Viktor it helps him manage his stress. Viktor tries to help with dinner that evening, but he knows Yuuri’s just being nice when Yuuri thanks him and says he’s doing an amazing job. Viktor is a terrible cook. He’s distractible and absent-minded, and it takes him twice as long to do the same task as Yuuri, if he even remembers to complete it. Viktor is the kind of man who burns toast and eats it because he doesn’t notice the char. The only reason he knows this about himself is because other people have pointed it out.

“Uh, Viktor?” Yuuri says later that evening when they’re in the kitchen together. It’s steamy and warm, the windows fogged with condensation. They still haven’t talked about their hand-holding, but Viktor doesn’t mind. There’s a lot between them that’s unspoken, and perhaps that’s fitting given their contrasting mother tongues.

“Hmmm?” Viktor asks. He’s been watching Yuuri cut vegetables, new nails flashing, for five minutes now.

“Are you going to turn on the rice cooker?” 

Viktor had offered to cook the rice tonight, and Yuuri had shown him to the rice cooker rather than the stovetop. Clearly he didn’t trust Viktor with a method that was not absolutely fool-safe. Viktor had accepted Yuuri’s judgement without a trace of embarrassment. 

“What? Oh!” Viktor puts down the empty measuring cup, which he’s been holding the whole time, and flicks on the rice cooker. “Sorry.”

Yuuri abandons the vegetables to check Viktor’s done it right. 

“Good job,” Yuuri says, and returns to cutting. Viktor flushes with pride. Yuuri’s more liberal with his praise in the kitchen than Viktor is on the ice, and Viktor wonders if he could learn something from this. Perhaps he should celebrate Yuuri’s little victories more. 

After dinner, which they have alone in the empty restaurant since they were out late by the seaside, they do the dishes together. Viktor looks to Yuuri for guidance on how to behave, but receives none. He walks Yuuri to his bedroom and thinks about kissing him the whole length of the hallway.

“Good night,” Yuuri says softly when they reach his door. He rests a hand on the panel behind him.

“Good night,” Viktor replies. He tilts his head to the side, leaning a little towards Yuuri. His stomach flutters and he feels dizzy. In this moment, Viktor no longer thinks of Yuuri in pieces. Not lips, tongue, eyes, hips, hands, heart. Not figure skater, pole dancer, nail-biter, dog-lover, friend. Yuuri is whole.

And Viktor wants him all.

“Yu—” Viktor begins.

“I’llseeyouinthemorning,” Yuuri says, and slips into his room, shutting the door behind him. Viktor stands there, stunned, for several long seconds before he turns on his heel and retires to his own room. It’s all he can do to keep from crying in frustration.

-

When he opens his phone under the blankets later that night, Viktor’s got a message from Yurio. He props himself up on his elbows and leans against a dozing Makkachin.

> _half ur instagram is that pig_ , Yurio’s message says.

Viktor always suspected Yurio was lurking, but it’s been weeks since he’s commented on Viktor’s social media.

_I’m his coach_ , Viktor texts back. _He’s the most important part of my day. Can you say the same about your cats?_

Yurio replies within an hour, which is record time for him.

> _dont kid urself_
> 
> _ur his mail-order bride but he doesn’t want u_
> 
> _get over him already n come home_
> 
> _if ur lucky maybe yakovll take u back_
> 
> _but since he has me probs not lbr_

Viktor smiles. He likes the idea of being Yuuri’s bride.

_Let me know if you want any pointers_ , he says, because he means it and because he knows it’ll make Yurio angry. He isn’t wrong. 

> _pointers on how 2 fk up the biggest skating career the worlds ever seen?!!?_
> 
> _or how 2 fail so hard even pole-humping last place doesnt want u 101?????_
> 
> _or how 2 lose 1000 insta followers in 10 days??_
> 
> _or how 2 be less sexy than a bowl of rice??!?!_
> 
> _or how 2 let down ur coach and ur friends and ur country and anyone whos ever admired ur weak ice princess routines and—_

Viktor closes WhatsApp mid-sentence and takes a few calming breaths. Yurio’s only a kid, but sometimes he flails around enough that he actually manages to strike a nerve or two. 

That katsudon comment was harsh.

-

Viktor wakes a few hours later to a repetitive scratching sound. He can tell it isn’t morning yet because there’s no glow coming through his window. He burrows out of his toasty nest of pillows and blankets and searches for the source of the sound that woke him.

Makkachin is standing on his hind legs, pawing at the door to the hall. He still hasn’t worked out the Katsukis’ sliding doors. Deciding Makkachin must need to go outside, Viktor drags himself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he glides into a pair of slippers.

When he opens the door to the hall, Makkachin pads into the hallway, tail wagging. Instead of going right, towards the door to the outside, he turns left and clicks down the hallway to Yuuri’s door.

“Makkachin!” Viktor whispers, chest tightening. “ _Ko miye_!”

Makkachin, who is normally obedient, ignores him and sniffs at the base of Yuuri’s door.

“Makkachin!” Viktor tries again, but when Makkachin stands on his hind legs and paws at the door, Viktor chases down the hallway after him on light feet.

“You’ll wake him up,” Viktor murmurs, putting a hand on Makkachin’s head. “Come back to bed.” Makkachin doesn’t so much as turn an ear in Viktor’s direction, so Viktor picks him up, heavy and leggy though he is, and begins to carry him back down the hallway. Makkachin pushes his nose in Viktor’s face and lets out a loud whine.

“Sh…” Viktor says, bouncing Makkachin to try to quiet him. It’s an awkward thing to attempt with a dog of Makkachin’s size. “Sh…” Makkachin whines louder. Viktor worries he’ll wake the whole Katsuki family. He puts Makkachin down, and Makkachin races back to Yuuri’s door, then paws at it again. For a fleeting moment, Viktor worries something might be wrong with Yuuri. Why else would Makkachin wake in the night and be so insistent on seeing him? They were fast friends, but Makkachin has never begged to be let into Yuuri’s room at night before. Makkachin always sleeps with Viktor.

Viktor creeps back to Yuuri’s door, a calming hand on Makkachin’s head again. He holds his breath and presses his ear to Yuuri’s door.

It’s hard to hear past the pounding in his ears, but Viktor’s pretty sure there’s not a sound from within. He glances down at Makkachin, who gazes up at him with a pleading expression. Suddenly nervous, and always a sucker for Makkachin’s puppy eyes, Viktor gently slides open Yuuri’s door.

Yuuri’s room is no darker than the hallway, so Viktor can see right away that Yuuri is lying in his bed, curled in a ball beneath his blankets. His back is to the door, and all Viktor can see of him beyond the mound his body makes is the tuft of messy black hair standing out against his pillows.

Before Viktor can react, Makkachin slips into the room and jumps onto Yuuri’s bed. Viktor tenses. What will he say if Yuuri wakes and sees Viktor just _standing_ there in the doorway? As if he hadn’t frightened Yuuri enough with the near-kiss already, now Viktor’s literally watching Yuuri while he sleeps.

Yuuri stirs when Makkachin’s paws hit the mattress, and he straightens his legs, rolls over, and drapes an arm over Makkachin’s back. Makkachin gives a satisfied snuffling and settles into the blankets. Yuuri, apparently still lost in the thick tangles of sleep, shimmies closer to Makkachin and plops his face against Makkachin’s fur. Yuuri sighs, and Viktor tries to convince himself he didn’t imagine Yuuri murmuring “Viktoru…” into Makkachin’s fur.

Viktor knows Yuuri used to have a poodle as well, but it had died while he was in America. Yuuri was evasive when Viktor had asked its name, and he supposes it must be a Japanese tradition not to utter the names of the beloved dead. Now, as he watches Yuuri cling to Makkachin in his sleep, Viktor is overcome with longing. He’s never been jealous of a dog before, but he would give anything, including his fifteen suitcases of figure skating costumes and his Turin Olympics gold medal, to swap places with Makkachin just now.

He watches Yuuri and Makkachin cuddle for a few minutes before sliding shut Yuuri’s door and slipping back to his room. The bed is cold without Makkachin, and Viktor can’t stop thinking about Yuuri murmuring his name in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Kancho (Japanese) – a prank popular with schoolchildren in Japan. I’ll leave it at that.  
> Ko miye (Russian) – come (lit. “to me”)  
> Renju (Japanese) – traditional board game


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoulder massages are just the start. Foot stuff for Sars will definitely happen xaxa ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ

It’s early the next morning and Yuuri’s still sleeping when Viktor rises from his lonely bed. Viktor sneaks Makkachin out of Yuuri’s room—he tries not to focus on how Yuuri’s sprawled in sleep with the sort of casual relaxation he lacks in his waking life—and heads out with Makkachin for a walk. They jog the quiet streets of Hasetsu and run into Mari on their way back to the Kastuskis’ while the sun is still rising.

“Oh, hey,” Mari says, ashing her cigarette as she adjusts a bulky sack of groceries slung over her shoulder. She takes a long drag as Viktor and Makkachin fall into step beside her. “You’re always up so early.”

Viktor shrugs, gazing at the clouds blowing in from the sea. “Old habits die hard,” he says, flashing a smile.

Mari makes a sound that’s halfway between a cough and a snort, then spits onto the sidewalk. “So what is it with you and Yuuri, anyway?” she asks, sounding bored.

“Hmm?” Viktor asks. He pretends he hasn’t understood her so he has more time to think of an appropriate reaction.

“Are you dating now, or what?”

“ _Hmm_?”

Mari sighs. “Coach, boyfriend, whatever, just be good to him, OK? He’s my kid brother. He’s sensitive. You mean a lot to him.”

Viktor is suddenly very aware of his heart. “I _do_?”

Mari rolls her eyes, takes a long drag, then blows smoke in Viktor’s face. “Yeah. You do. I’ve had enough late-night Skype calls with him to know exactly what he thinks of you.” She looks like she wishes she didn’t.

Skype calls. Late nights. Yuuri called her from America to talk about Viktor?

“Phichit never mentioned—”

“How do you know Phichit?” Mari asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Uh…” It’s not something Viktor feels like sharing. When he began posting pictures of Yuuri on his Instagram, Phichit had started commenting regularly. It was only a short time before they started direct messaging, and Viktor uncovered a treasure trove of information on Yuuri. Viktor’s never spoken to Phichit in-person, but he considers him a friend. “Men’s figure skating is a small community at this level.”

“Sure, OK,” Mari says, and Viktor can tell she doesn’t believe him.

Something occurs to Viktor. There’s no delicate way of asking, not that he’s good at that sort of thing, so he just asks. “What was Yuuri’s dog’s name?” It’s been driving him mad.

Mari’s suddenly so focused on her cigarette she doesn’t appear to hear him. “Mari?” Viktor says. “I said, what—”

“Vicchan,” Mari mutters, avoiding Viktor’s gaze.

Viktor frowns in confusion. “Vicchan? Is that Japanese?”

“Uh.” Mari shifts her sack. “I just remembered…I think I left the…uh…rice cooker…on… Sorry… Gotta dash…” She scurries away down the street, cigarette still in hand.

“It has an automatic off!” Viktor calls after her. How does she not know that? 

-

Viktor figures it out later that morning as he does crunches at Yuuri’s side.

Vicchan.

Vic-chan.

Vic-Japanese diminutive suffix.

Vic sounds an awful lot like Viktor.

But Viktor isn’t a Japanese name.

Viktor can’t tell if he’s pleased by this or not. For whatever reason, Yuuri chose to name his childhood pet a non-Japanese name. Viktor is a common enough name in various cultures, but Viktor can’t imagine Yuuri knew many Viktors growing up in Hasetsu. And Phichit already told Viktor Yuuri was an ardent fan…

But does that mean Yuuri was just remembering Viktor the dead dog when he clung to Makkachin in his sleep and murmured Viktor’s name? He wasn’t dreaming of Viktor, the man?

Viktor wishes he hadn’t asked Mari for details.

Once they’re done their dryland training for the day, Viktor decides to correct something he’s let slide for far too long.

“You need to stop slouching,” he says, approaching Yuuri from behind as he sits on the change room bench sipping a juice box. Viktor readjusts Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri’s fine on-ice, but off-ice he turtles. He still hasn’t figured out half the show isn’t even on-ice. “Shoulders back, back straight, head up...”

Yuuri squirms but doesn’t protest. 

“You’re so tense.” He must be worried about the upcoming Japan Figure Skating Championships. Without thinking, Viktor begins massaging Yuuri’s shoulders. They’re narrower than Viktor’s and less bulky, but they’re sinewy and strong. Viktor closes his eyes and massages Yuuri hard, inhaling the scents of sweat and soap. He likes how it feels to hold Yuuri, to knead him...

“Wh-what’re you doing?” Yuuri demands. Viktor stops, his hands falling to his sides. He instantly misses Yuuri’s warmth. 

“Giving you a massage,” Viktor replies. “Yakov used to give them to me if I was too tense, so—”

“You don’t have to do that,” Yuuri protests, sliding away. “I’ll just have an extra-long soak in the onsen tonight.” He doesn’t get up right away, so Viktor comes to sit beside him. 

“It’s just a massage,” Viktor says. Just a massage, when we’ve already held one another and danced the night away. Just a massage, when I’m haunted by that night of surprises we shared every time I touch you and you shy away. Just a massage. 

Yuuri glances at him, turns pink, and shows Viktor his back. “All right,” he says. 

Viktor feels sleepy and hot by the time he finishes with Yuuri’s shoulders. He thinks about wrapping his arms around Yuuri and kissing his neck, tasting his skin and hearing him sigh. If he hadn’t realized Yuuri was dreaming of his dog and not Viktor last night, Viktor probably would have. But he’s not confident Yuuri feels that deeply, so Viktor releases him, cracks his knuckles, and leads Yuuri to the ice. It’s hard to focus on the technical things when all Viktor can think about is how it felt to make Yuuri give a moan of satisfaction with his massaging.

It’s a sound Viktor will think a lot about later.

-

Over dinner, Viktor has a hard time looking at Yuuri. He feels betrayed. Betrayed by the assumption Yuuri was dreaming of him while he embraced Makkachin, which Viktor now knows was wishful thinking.

What are they _doing_ , anyway? What _is_ this?

Soon, Viktor can’t stand feeling sorry for himself. None of this is Yuuri’s fault. Viktor glances at Yuuri and their gazes meet. How long was Yuuri staring at him?

Yuuri puts a fingertip in his mouth. He continues to gaze at Viktor a long moment, sighs, and cracks into the shellac. Viktor reaches across the table and coaxes Yuuri’s finger from his mouth.

“I thought the nail polish helped?” Viktor asks, drawing their hands to the table and holding Yuuri’s there.

“In a way,” Yuuri agrees, flushing to the tips of his ears. He ducks his head and stares at their twined fingers.

Viktor strokes the back of Yuuri’s hand with his thumb. “You’re doing much better,” he says.

“Thanks,” Yuuri mumbles.

Now he should say something, Viktor thinks. He should tell Yuuri how he’s being driven _insane_ by Yuuri’s hot-and-cold, sexy-and-sweet, confident-and-insecure thrashing. But it’s not Yuuri’s fault, Viktor reminds himself. It’s his _anxiety_ … Mentioning it would only make matters worse. And if Yuuri can only manage to hold hands for now, that’s fine. Viktor will wait until the end of time if that’s what it takes for Yuuri to come out of his shell again, if only for a moment. For Yuuri’s sake, Viktor hopes it’ll happen on-ice. For Viktor’s sake, he hopes it’ll happen off-ice.

Mari comes into the dining room and catches them holding hands. Yuuri breaks the hold. Mari gives a cough of what Viktor interprets as approval, then returns to the kitchen. 

-

Later that night, Makkachin wakes Viktor again. For the second night in a row, Viktor follows Makkachin to Yuuri’s room, slides open the door, and lets Makkachin bound into bed with Yuuri. Once again, Viktor is consumed with jealousy when Yuuri cuddles close to Makkachin. And once again, Viktor’s heart lurches when Yuuri whispers his name. Viktor watches them in silence for a few minutes before returning to his room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suffering will end soon, I promise! 
> 
> Ever wonder why that aggressive hug for the press happened at the Japan Figure Skating Championships? Me too. Here’s one interpretation…

Viktor doesn’t like Kenjirou Minami. He’d never even heard of Minami a few weeks ago, but it’s an instantaneous thing when they meet at the Japan Figure Skating Championships. He doesn’t like Minami’s hair, his teeth, his sense of style, or his abrasive extroversion.

And even though Minami’s only a kid, Viktor _hates_ how he looks at Yuuri.

It’s not because Viktor’s jealous.

Well, maybe he is.

A little.

But it’s more about how Minami looks at Yuuri in the exact way Viktor looks at Yuuri, and _Yuuri doesn’t notice_. Yuuri can’t see how Minami lights up like the northern lights when Yuuri walks by. Yuuri can’t see how Minami stares at him—and certain parts of him in particular—when Yuuri does a jump in his half-skirted costume. Yuuri can’t see how Minami idolizes him, worships him, wants to be him, wants to _have_ him.

And if Yuuri can’t see that, maybe he can’t see Viktor’s feelings either.

Viktor always knew other people find Yuuri attractive. Audiences fell silent during parts of his programme at Sochi last year because of his seductive footwork. Chris had a very physical reaction to their pole dancing together. Yurio seems to have a bizarre professional admiration-physical preoccupation-personal loathing triumvirate going on. Even Mila said Yuuri’s hot and Georgi confessed he’d wine and dine Yuuri “if he swung that way and Anya was dead and buried”.

But it’s Minami who sends Viktor over the edge of envy, because he sees so much of himself in him. Maybe, if Viktor were secure in the knowledge Yuuri liked him, he wouldn’t care so much. As it is, he doesn’t really know how Yuuri feels, so his stomach writhes and his ears get hot every time Minami does anything to remind Viktor how oblivious and available Yuuri is.

Viktor’s never thought of himself as possessive. He’s always been fun and flirty, at least superficially, but he’s never had a serious lover. He never had the time. So this feeling of _selfishness_ about someone else is new to him.

And to top it all off, Yuuri’s so nervous he ignores Viktor’s attempt at a pep talk before he goes to warm up for his domestic championship performance.

“As your coach, it’s my duty to send you out there feeling confident,” Viktor says, barely able to contain his excitement before Yuuri’s short programme. He knows Yuuri has this competition in the bag. “I know it’s been tough, but I truly believe that you—” Yuuri hands Viktor his skate guards and, without so much as looking at him, heads onto the ice.

At the end of Yuuri’s warm-up, Viktor, already in a bad mood, almost loses his mind when Minami stares openly at Yuuri’s backside as he does a deep-edged spread eagle, back arched. All Viktor can think is, _How_ dare _that snaggletoothed fanatic?_

“Yuuri,” Viktor says after he passes him his water bottle, “I want you to turn around.”

“Hm?” Yuuri asks.

It’s all Viktor can do to contain his frustration. “I said _turn around_.”

Yuuri tenses. “OK,” he says. He turns his back to Viktor and faces the sea of press photographers on the far side of the ice. And Minami, who still hasn’t exited the rink. “Like this?”

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri and pulls Yuuri’s back tight against his chest. There’s a board between their hips and legs, but it feels good to hold Yuuri in the way Yuuri held him not long ago on the side of the road. He can feel every curve of Yuuri’s shoulders, chest, and back through the thin fabric of his costume. Viktor rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder and presses his lips to Yuuri’s ear as dozens of cameras snap and flash.

Make no mistake, Viktor thinks as he stares down the camera lenses. He glances at Minami. This man is _mine_.

“Seduce me with everything you have,” Viktor murmurs. He knows hugging Yuuri will help calm him given their experience at the Onsen On Ice competition. But Viktor hugs Yuuri for selfish reasons too, and he isn’t ashamed to admit it to himself. “If your performance can enthrall me, then you can bring the whole audience to their knees. That’s what I say in practice, right?” He’s always acted like he’s hard to impress, but he’s been on his knees for months already.

When Yuuri looks to Viktor at the beginning of his routine, Viktor nods in acknowledgement. He forgets about Minami and just enjoys Yuuri’s performance for what it is.

The hug must’ve shocked Yuuri a little. The effects are obvious in his Eros routine.

-

By the next day, Viktor’s over Minami. He doesn’t care, because he knows Yuuri will never see the sweet but immature Minami _like that_. Yuuri looked at _Viktor_ at the beginning of a routine dedicated to erotic love, after all. Not the judges, not the audience, but _Viktor_.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Viktor says before Yuuri’s free skate, because it’s true. And it’s more than just the glitter of Yuuri’s costume. Viktor gazes at Yuuri a long moment before catching sight of Minami over Yuuri’s shoulder. He gets an idea. “Your lips are a little chapped.” Viktor removes a tub of lip salve from his pocket—Coco Chanel, of course—and applies a thin sheen to Yuuri’s lips with his fingertip. Minami emits a squeal that Viktor hardly notices; he’s too fixated on the warmth and texture of Yuuri’s mouth. Then, because he’s been thinking about nothing else since yesterday, Viktor pulls Yuuri into a tight, face-to-face embrace. There’s no board between them this time. Yuuri hugs him back, a cool hand resting on the back of Viktor’s neck, and Viktor _knows_.

Yuuri feels the same way.

Viktor doesn’t care when Minami screams his support for Yuuri from the audience as he heads to centre ice, or when Yuuri ignores his coaching advice and changes the early triples of his routine to doubles. He gets nervous when he realizes Yuuri intends to do put three quads at the end of the programme, then elated when he sees how alike this makes them. He loses himself in the performance as he watches Yuuri skate something they created together, something representing their reunion in Hasetsu, their teamwork at Ice Castle, their endless hours of sweat and toil… Yuuri doesn’t nail all his jumps, but the way his body moves, as though it _creates_ the music rather than obeys it, bewitches Viktor and the quiet audience…

And then Yuuri slams his face into the boards and finishes his programme with a nosebleed. Always a bit squeamish, Viktor doesn’t hug Yuuri when he comes flying off the ice, blood pouring down his chin, but he does once Yuuri’s nose has been stopped up and the scores are released. Viktor can’t contain his enthusiasm, clinging to Yuuri as he rocks them back and forth.

“It’s amazing you got such a high score after ramming your face into a wall!” Viktor cries. “Don’t worry about letting me down, I know you’ll do better next time,” he adds, nuzzling Yuuri’s chilly cheek. He doesn’t even notice Minami until he interrupts them to deliver his praise.

Viktor’s a little annoyed by the interruption, especially when Minami and the other Japanese skaters crash their celebration for autographs. At least, Viktor thinks, he isn’t jealous anymore. He’s just irked he wasn’t allowed to hold Yuuri for longer.

-

Yuuri’s passionate as he describes to the press his plans for the remainder of the season. Viktor, who’s watching the live televised conference from the Katsuki ryokan, doesn’t even catch ten per cent of what’s said because his Japanese is so poor and Yuuri is so excited he’s speaking twice his normal speed. Viktor can’t even read the sign Yuuri presents to declare his theme for this season since it’s in kanji.

All Viktor can think about is how stunning Yuuri looked during his free skate programme in his narrow-wasted, glittery costume. When he was _enjoying_ himself. Viktor stares at Yuuri’s bulky blue necktie as Yuuri goes on about his plans, and all Viktor can think is, Yuuri is beautiful, and he would look even more beautiful if he knew how to dress better.

By the end of Yuuri’s speech, Viktor has sworn to himself he’ll do more to learn Japanese. The interviewer is gaping and even Yuuri’s family, Minako, and the Nishigoris appear shocked.

“The first thing we’re going to do when he gets back here is burn that necktie,” Viktor says, squeezing Makkachin, who's balled in his lap. “It’s hideous. He needs a new one before the Cup of China.” The Katsukis, Nishigoris, and Minako stare at him.

-

Late that night, when Yuuri’s home and tucked into bed at the end of the hall, Viktor’s awoken by Makkachin again. This has been going on for weeks now, so Viktor doesn’t bat an eyelash before rising to escort Makkachin to Yuuri’s room. He lets Makkachin in, holds his breath, and waits for it.

“Viktoru,” Yuuri murmurs. Smiling, Viktor closes the door and returns to bed. It’s nice to hear Yuri say his name like that, even if he is only thinking of a dog. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having flown both coach class and first class, I can say there are definite perks to coach. Vitya will learn them too ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ
> 
> Part one of the Cup of China!
> 
> Marina and the Diamonds provide the best soundtrack to Viktor’s thoughts lol

 

> _viktor katsuki: trophy husband of japans golden piggy yuuri katsuki_

Viktor can practically hear Yurio's drawl when he checks his messages early the morning of his departure for China. The timing of its arrival is no coincidence, Viktor knows.

 _HUSBAND_ , Viktor replies. _What a great idea!_  He's thought about the possibility a lot already, but never about how his name might change. Viktor Katsuki sounds amazing. Or maybe Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov. Or would Viktor Nikiforov-Katsuki roll off the tongue better?

 

> _jfc i wasn't serious_
> 
> _viktor if u ask him to marry u i swear_
> 
> _answer me_
> 
> _chort vozmi_
> 
> _ur pathetic_

Viktor's too preoccupied to reply. He’s imagining learning to cook so he can prepare supper for Yuuri every night. Viktor wants Yuuri to smile at him the way Yuuri smiles at Mrs. Katsuki after he demolishes one of her home-cooked meals. Viktor wants Yuuri to come up behind him while he's icing a cake, put his hands on Viktor’s waist, and lean in and kiss his neck while Viktor asks him about his day.

His life goals are simple, really, but turning out to require more dedication than winning an Olympic gold medal. It’s not hard, though, because like skating, Viktor loves this slow dance with Yuuri.

Viktor has the impression that, while Yuuri has historically proven unusually demonstrative with his emotions for a rather traditional Japanese man, there are certain emotions he is not comfortable sharing. Affection, for one. Joy, for another. It’s almost like Yuuri is afraid to jinx anything that brings him happiness.

Because Viktor knows he makes Yuuri happy.

It doesn’t matter if Yuuri doesn’t tell Viktor how he feels. He doesn’t need to. They both know where they stand now. They hold hands in the streets, brush knees under tables, and hug in celebration of even small victories. It’s usually Viktor leading the charge. He takes his cues from the subtleties of Yuuri’s body language and the things he doesn’t say. But that’s fine. Viktor is happy getting whatever Yuuri’s comfortable giving.

Viktor will race to meet Yuuri halfway, always.

-

“It’s been a long time since I’ve flown coach,” Viktor says, squishing into a seat next to Yuuri on their flight to Beijing for the Cup of China. He had been shocked when Yuuri selected coach instead of first class when they booked the tickets weeks ago, but Viktor didn’t press the issue. Instead, he booked a ticket right beside Yuuri. “Do you have to ask for champagne?”

The look Yuuri casts Viktor means Viktor knows there won’t be any champagne.

Oh, the things Viktor suffers for the man he adores.

“Why don’t we just get some sleep?” Yuuri asks, adjusting his neck pillow.

“How can I sleep in a tiny seat like this?” Viktor asks, crumpling like an accordion. His knees are almost at his ears. More importantly, how can he sleep with Yuuri so close?

“Your fault,” Yuuri murmurs drowsily, closing his eyes and leaning against the window.

“ _My_ fault?”

“If you didn’t have legs for days, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Viktor blinks. Was that a _compliment_? About his _figure_?

It’s not long before Viktor discovers the surprising benefits of flying coach. The excuse to invade Yuuri’s personal space, for example. By the time they begin their descent into Beijing International, Viktor’s edged halfway into Yuuri’s lap, the side of his head pressed against Yuuri’s cheek. When Yuuri wakes, he doesn’t even protest, just shifts, yawns, and kisses Viktor’s temple.

Viktor starts and stares, cheeks ablaze. His heart gives a decisive thud against his ribs.

“What?” Yuuri mumbles. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks a little anxious, but not overwhelmed. “It's just…you were right there.”

If being physically close enough is all it takes to get a kiss out of Yuuri, they’d be married by now. Something’s changed, and Viktor doesn’t know what it is. But he isn’t complaining. He slides closer yet, positioning his face right in front of Yuuri’s. Their mouths are level.

“And now?” Viktor asks, gazing into Yuuri’s heavy eyes. He can feel Yuuri’s breath on his lips.  

Maybe it’s the sleepiness. Maybe it’s the closeness. Maybe it’s the months of Viktor’s unrelenting devotion.

For one fleeting, blissful, perfect moment sharing a cramped seat in stuffy coach class, Yuuri closes his eyes and presses their mouths together. Viktor, not wanting to miss a second of it, keeps his eyes wide open. He barely gets to kiss Yuuri back before Yuuri leans away and clamps a hand over his mouth. Viktor makes to pull him back, but stops himself. Yuuri’s cheeks are scarlet and he’s staring out the window, eyes glittering. His hand drops to his lap. “I just kissed _Viktor Nikiforov_ ,” Yuuri mutters, like he can’t believe it. Viktor strongly suspects Yuuri is screaming on the inside. He’d probably be screaming on the outside if they weren’t surrounded by slumbering passengers.

“No,” Viktor says, lifting Yuuri’s chin. Yuuri looks at him and Viktor feels like he doesn’t need the plane they’re in to soar. “I was just kissed by _Katsuki Yuuri_.” He puts a hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck, drawing him even closer, then tips Yuuri’s head back and kisses him. Nothing light. Nothing fleeting. Viktor always kisses like he means it. And this time, he does. 

They only separate when the cabin lights turn on.

-

Viktor always wants to spend personal time with Yuuri, but this impulse intensifies tenfold the second they hit terra firma in China. They barely get a moment alone in their hotel room—with Viktor wondering if he’s allowed to kiss Yuuri in a place like this yet, or if that’s too much for where they’re at now—before Yuuri’s phone blows up with requests for interviews.

“I should probably give one or two,” Yuuri says, looking like he’d rather do anything but face the press.

“It’s fine,” Viktor says. For once, he doesn’t relish the idea of being in the limelight, and he doesn’t long for the world to see how great Yuuri is. He wants Yuuri all to himself, if only for a while. Is that too much to ask?

Viktor’s patience runs out about half an hour into the scrum. No one asks any new questions, there are no surprises, and Viktor’s losing his mind thinking about how, only a few short hours ago, he and Yuuri were snogging in the clouds. He tugs discretely on Yuuri’s sleeve as Yuuri calmly answers the same question for the fifth time.   

“I’m hungry and this is boring, can we go and get hot pot now?” Viktor doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to eating whatever he wants whenever he wants. Besides, he can tell Yuuri hates this.

“I’m kind of in the middle of an interview,” Yuuri says, looking confused. Viktor knows he should stop distracting Yuuri, so he chases after Yakov instead when he sees him pass.

“We’re going out for hot pot, do you want to come?” Vitkor asks, trailing after Yakov and Georgi. Yakov doesn’t answer. “You’re not ignoring me, are you?”

“Viktor,” Yakov says, without turning around, “go away. Watching you pretend coach makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t want to talk to you until you beg me to salvage your skating career. Is that clear enough?”

“Bu—”

“And I take it as a _personal attack_ you think that Katsuki boy can win anything with a routine based on _pork cutlet bowls_ ,” Yakov spits.

Yakov is like a father to Viktor, so his words sting. Viktor tells himself Yakov’s just had a rough year.

“I guess he’s not interested,” Viktor says, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and steering him in the opposite direction. “Let’s go.”

-

Viktor can’t persuade Yuuri to indulge in much over dinner.

“Uh, are you sure you should open that second bottle?” Yuuri asks as Viktor opens another bottle of _baijiu_. Celestino is already down for the count.

“Of course, what’s the harm?” Viktor asks. He comes from the birthplace of vodka, where anything under 10% alcohol was considered foodstuff until 2011. He finds Yuuri’s recent conservative approach to alcohol amusing and endearing. Who was the one who downed sixteen champagne flutes at the last Grand Prix, anyway?

“You know that’s baijiu, right? It’s not wine.”

The rest of the night is a blur. When Viktor wakes the next morning, he’s in a hotel bed. He’s very thirsty. He groans and throws back the blankets. He underestimated Chinese wine.

“Ah! V-V-Viktor!” Yuuri yells, looking up from his phone. He’s sitting at the low table in the middle of the room, already dressed for the arena. He looks mortified.

“Hmm?” Viktor asks, rubbing his eyes. He glances at the clock and stretches. Then he realizes he’s naked. “Interesting. What did we get up to last night?”

“ _Nothing_!” Yuuri cries. Viktor can tell by his blush that it’s true.

“Oh. Too bad.” Viktor stands, smiles broadly, and wanders to the shower. He can’t help feeling rebuffed when Yuuri deliberately averts his gaze. These feelings of rejection wane when Viktor catches up on his social media in the cab on the way to the rink. Phichit posted a photo from the restaurant yesterday evening. Apparently, Viktor got naked there and Yuuri let him hang off him all night. How sweet. Viktor tries to imagine how Yuuri got him back to the hotel through the streets of Beijing but can’t manage it.

-

“The time to seduce me picturing pork cutlet bowls is over,” Viktor says softly at the beginning of Yuuri’s short programme. He doesn’t know if Yakov was giving him a clue, but his comment certainly set Viktor thinking. He encloses Yuuri’s fist, balled on top of the boards between them, in his hand. “At this point you can do it just by being yourself. You’ve figured that out by now, haven’t you?” He strokes the back of Yuuri’s hand with his index finger.

To Viktor’s surprise, Yuuri laces their fingers together and thrusts his forehead against Viktor’s. He emits a small sound of…something. Frustration? Desperation? For a second, Viktor thinks Yuuri might kiss him in front of the world. But then he doesn’t. “Watch me, Viktor,” Yuuri orders. Viktor has never been so happy to comply with someone’s instructions. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Viktor touches his forehead after Yuuri skates away, as though he can preserve the sensation of Yuuri’s skin against his. What _happened_ last night? Yuuri’s different even from the morning of their arrival. He’s more passionate. Fiery. Confident. When he opens his skate, he locks gazes with Viktor and tosses his head, throwing him a look of pure eros. Viktor’s breath catches in his throat.

And when Yuuri earns his personal best nailing the most technically difficult programme in history, Viktor can’t help leaping into the air. He almost smothers Yuuri in the kiss and cry. “You were incredible!” He can’t let go of Yuuri for the rest of the day. Maybe it’s because of Phichit’s Instagram photo, maybe it’s because of the way Yuuri looked at him at the beginning of his Eros performance, but Viktor doesn’t second guess himself when he holds onto Yuuri as they watch Chris’s performance with Phichit and Guang Hong Ji. Yuuri leans into the embrace, warm and solid against Viktor’s chest.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Baijiu (Chinese) - strong Chinese spirit (40-60%)  
> Chort vozmi (Russian) – devil take [it] (sentiment: sarcastic, something bad/regretful has happened)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the Cup of China! (♡)
> 
> In which two awkward idiots finally figure out just how mutual it is but are too shy to talk about it. Feat. clothes sharing and more vicarious cuddles. 
> 
> I swear the real cuddles are coming up next!

The day of the free skate programme, Viktor can tell Yuuri hasn’t slept. He’s been too nervous about his novel position as the man to beat.

Viktor drags Yuuri back to their hotel room, strips him to his underwear, slaps a sleeping mask on him, and throws him into bed. Oh, what Viktor would give to strip and throw Yuuri into bed under different circumstances. Instead of converting the fantasy to reality, Viktor slumps over Yuuri and nuzzles into his chest. Yuuri’s scent is intoxicating. It floods Viktor with tingles and comfort.

“Did you set an alarm?” Viktor barely hears Yuuri demand as he drifts off to sleep.  

-

Yuuri doesn’t sleep during their scheduled nap. Viktor can tell by the bags under Yuuri’s eyes and his tense posture when they're at the rink. Despite his earplugs and Viktor’s reassurances, Yuuri winds up tighter and tighter as the day wears on, to the point other skaters have started to notice.

Viktor keeps an eye on Yuuri while listening to the thunderous applause acknowledging Chris’s perfect quadruple Lutz. Yuuri must hear the audience through his earplugs, for his face is grey as he stretches against the wall. Viktor joins him.

“Let’s get out of here for a bit,” Viktor suggests. Yuuri doesn’t protest, so Viktor drapes an arm over Yuuri’s shoulders and steers him to the car park in the basement of the stadium. They need privacy and calm.

“What are the current standings?” Yuuri looks on the verge of a panic attack.

“You don’t need to know. Why don’t we take some deep breaths?”

Yuuri ignores him, so Viktor stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest as he racks his brains for inspiration. What would Yakov do? By the time the audience’s deafening cheers for Phichit’s performance reach them, Yuuri is trembling. He pulls his earplugs out and gazes with horror at the ceiling. Without thinking, Viktor lunges forward and claps his hands over Yuuri’s ears.

“Don’t listen!” Viktor yells. If Yuuri panics now, it’ll be the end for him. Viktor holds his hands over Yuuri’s ears as the results are announced. He tries to keep his face impassive. They remain immobile as Viktor tries to think of something to do or say that will help.

“Don’t you think we should be getting back?” Yuuri asks eventually. His voice is quiet. “I’m up soon.”

Viktor hasn’t moved and his brain is still going a mile a minute. Yuuri’s heart is as fragile as glass. Viktor has known this since he first saw him skate. In that case, maybe—

He releases Yuuri. “Yuuri,” Viktor says. He keeps his voice flat. “It is at least partially my fault if you mess up today and don’t make it onto the podium. I’ll take responsibility and resign as your coach.”

Viktor doesn’t even remember what he was trying to do when the tears start pouring down Yuuri’s face.

“Why would you say something like that?” Yuuri says, broken. Viktor can hear his flood of tears splattering against the concrete beneath their feet. “Like you’re testing me?”

It shattered. He shattered Yuuri’s heart.

Oh no.

He had not guessed Yuuri felt so deeply.

“Look, Yuuri, I wasn’t serious,” Viktor says, taking a step towards him. He wants to hold Yuuri and kiss him and promise he’ll never leave him. “I’m sorry.”

“I fail a lot so I’ve gotten pretty used to it over the years, but it’s different now because I don’t want my mistakes reflecting on you! I’ve been wondering if you secretly wanted to quit!”

“I was just saying that, of course I don’t—”

“ _I know_!” Yuuri bellows with so much passion Viktor feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He knows? Then Yuuri just stands there sobbing as he shrinks into himself.

“Look,” Viktor says, rubbing the back of his head and thinking of simpler times, “I’m not very good with people crying.” Flirtation is his forte. Anger, he can handle. Panic, he can manage if he has to. Tears? He’s freaking out. “I don’t know what to say in this situation.” He knows what he wants to do, though. “Should I just kiss you or something?”

“No!” Yuuri says, shocking Viktor further. “Just have more faith that I’m going to win than I do! And you don’t have to say anything, just _stay close to me_ , Viktor!” His voice breaks on Viktor’s name, at about the exact moment Viktor’s heart explodes. 

-

Yuuri’s performance shocks Viktor, the audience, and the judges. The greatest surprise comes when he adds a quadruple flip at the very end of his programme. Viktor would never have dared. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t land it, Yuuri got all the rotations in. Viktor races to the kiss and cry.

“I did great, right?” Yuuri asks as he flies toward the boards.

He was perfect.

Viktor astonishes them both. He doesn’t even know he’s going to do it before he does. He launches himself at Yuuri, knocks him clean off his skates, and kisses him in front of over 17,000 people in the Capital Indoor Stadium, and untold millions, including both their families, on live television.

Viktor is too proud of what he and Yuuri have to keep it to themselves, now that there’s no doubt. He needs the world to see.

-

They decide to make their last night in Beijing a quiet one, despite the countless social invitations. Viktor pops out to pick up takeaway because Yuuri is too tired to go anywhere.

Yuuri’s curled in a chair by the window, scrolling through his phone when Viktor returns to their hotel room. The silver medal is on the bedside table. Viktor still swells with pride when he thinks about how Yuuri skated today.

“Hey,” Yuuri says, not looking up. He has his nose buried in the turned up neck of his rather chic turtleneck. When did he get that? It doesn’t match the rest of his wardrobe. Viktor sheds his shoes at the door and comes to stand next to Yuuri. Then he realizes. 

“Is that my sweater?” Viktor asks. He knows it is. He wore it yesterday evening and left it on the back of a chair in their hotel room. He never repacks anything until the day of his departure when he’s in a hotel, because what’s the point?

Yuuri gives a guilty jolt and drops his phone. Half his face is still hidden by the collar of Viktor’s shirt.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri says. He starts to pull off Viktor’s shirt. “I was cold!”

“What? You were cold? So you wore my shirt? That’s adorable!” Viktor kneels on the floor and wraps his arms around Yuuri, keeping him from pulling off the sweater. “You look so cute in it! Keep wearing it! Wear whatever you want of mine, I don’t mind! Do you want a fresh one instead?”

Yuuri sits still as a stone. Viktor releases him. Was that too much? Maybe he shouldn’t have touched him. 

“Um… Is it OK if I just keep wearing this one for now?” Yuuri asks. His glasses are misting a little and he hasn’t pulled the sweater away from his mouth. 

“Of course! But if you want a clean one, I have a suitcase full of clothes you can go through instead.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll just wear this one tonight though.” 

Viktor likes seeing Yuuri wear his clothes. They have a height and build difference—Yuuri is shorter and finer—but Viktor’s clothes look good on Yuuri. In an oversized-because-he-raided-his-boyfriend’s-closet kind of way. 

Wait, are they boyfriends now? Is that the word for this? Viktor needs to know, but can’t bring himself to ask. He gets warm when Yuuri tucks into the bed across from him later that night, still wearing Viktor’s sweater. Yuuri curls on his side and tucks his face into the neck again. He gazes at Viktor who lies sprawled on his side in his bed, facing Yuuri.

Viktor would love to sleep in the same bed as Yuuri. Not to _do_ anything, unless Yuuri asked. But just to be close to Yuuri. To smell him. To hold him. Like during their nap but under the same blanket, sharing one another’s warmth, brushing toes.

“Good night, Viktor,” Yuuri murmurs. He closes his eyes.

Viktor wishes he was the turtleneck. Things were bad when he envied Makkachin, but envying a turtleneck?

Why can’t he just ask?

“Good night, Yuuri.”

In the morning, when Yuuri’s in the shower, Viktor picks up the sweater from where Yuuri left it folded at the end of his bed. Without really thinking about it, Viktor presses it to his nose and sniffs. It smells like Yuuri, but also like Clive Christian 1872. Viktor’s usual cologne. 

_Oh_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this was a long time coming for the patient xXYour_DoomXx! What might’ve happened if Yuuri found out about the Sochi after-party earlier than Barcelona… 
> 
> Also Viktor finally learns Yuuri isn’t talking about his dog and cuddles ensue lol

Settling back into life in Hasetsu now that the Katsukis and everyone else in Japan know how they feel about one another is easier than expected. If anything, Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki grow even warmer towards Viktor. Every so often, Mari catches his eye and gives a stoic nod of what Viktor assumes is approval. Viktor still sleeps in the converted ballroom down the hall from Yuuri’s room, and he still wakes with Makkachin every night to let him into Yuuri’s room and hear Yuuri murmur his name in his sleep.

But Yuuri touches Viktor more than ever before. He turns out to be surprisingly physical, and Viktor loves it. He puts his hands on Viktor’s waist and steers him around the kitchen when he’s in the way, touches his elbow or shoulder to get his attention, grabs onto him on the ice for no reason, and leans against him when they’re riding public transit or watching a movie. And sometimes, when no one else can see, Yuuri steals kisses.

They’re not always on the lips. Sometimes he kisses Viktor’s shoulder through his sweaty workout clothes, or he’ll kiss Viktor’s cheek or forehead on the rare occasion he finds himself taller than Viktor if Viktor’s sitting down. Then, one day when they’re lounging on Viktor’s bed and spying on competition through a computer screen, he kisses Viktor’s neck. Viktor’s heart rate goes from sixty to one hundred in the matter of a second. He’s grateful Mari took Makkachin out for a walk to the Hasetsu market.

“Um, Yuuri…” Viktor says, every muscle in his body tense. Yuuri withdraws his lips and breathes softly against Viktor’s neck.

“Hmm?”

Viktor swallows hard. “What’re you doing?”

“Smelling you. You smell really good.”

Before he knows what he’s doing, Viktor pulls Yuuri on top of him, parts Yuuri’s lips with his tongue, and kisses him deeper than they’ve ever kissed. Yuuri responds in kind, straddling Viktor’s hips and taking his face in his hands. His weight over Viktor’s middle holds great promise and excitement.

 _This_ is what Viktor has craved for months. Everything else has been marvelous, but _this_ is what kept him up at night.

“I had a dream like this once,” Viktor murmurs when Yuuri comes up for air.

“Only once?” Yuuri teases.

“No,” Viktor admits, and pulls Yuuri back down for more.

Viktor never knows whether they would have gone any further that day if he hadn’t said what he did.

“I haven’t seen you like this since Sochi,” Viktor murmurs as he laces his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri’s knee is pressing into him in a way that makes Viktor want to grind his teeth. Does Yuuri even know?

“Sochi?” Yuuri asks. He sounds surprised. “You noticed me in Sochi?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“My Eros wasn’t exactly _developed_ then,” Yuuri counters, sitting up. He looks fleetingly embarrassed.

“Don’t be modest,” Viktor says. He kisses Yuuri’s ear. “I’ve always known what you can do on a pole, if not on the ice.”

The effect is instantaneous. Yuuri bounds from the bed. He’s white as a sheet. “ _What_?!”

Viktor, feeling abandoned, kneels on the duvet and stares at Yuuri.

“ _What did you just say_?” Yuuri yells so loudly Viktor worries his parents will hear. It’s all the more alarming because Yuuri is normally so soft-spoken.

“Um, I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Viktor scratches his head and tries not to think about what might have been. “What?”

“How do you know what I can do on a pole?”

Viktor tilts his head and blinks. “Doesn’t everyone?”

This does nothing to calm Yuuri. “Who told you?” he demands, shaking.

“ _Told_ me?” As if anyone needed to tell him Yuuri can climb a pole like the exotic dancer he is.

Yuuri gapes at Viktor for a good ten seconds. “ _Phichit_ ,” he whispers eventually, like a swear. His hair is sticking up in all directions. He looks at once adorable and sexy as hell, but his obvious anxiety makes Viktor want to hug him.

“Uh, no,” Viktor says, confused. “Well, I mean, yes, I asked him where you learnt—”

“He _told_ you?” Yuuri rips his phone from his pocket and begins a flurry of texting.

“Only because I asked,” Viktor says, watching Yuuri’s thumbs fly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

“What did you ask him that made him think it was OK to talk about that?!” Yuuri demands, still texting. Viktor comes to stand beside him and peeks at his phone. He catches sight of an ALL CAPS multi-paragraph rant. It’s even got proper punctuation. Yuuri twists his shoulders to hide his screen from Viktor’s view. 

“Well, I just asked him where you learnt to dance like that, so he told me.”

Yuuri stops texting. He spins back to face Viktor. “How did you know I could dance?” he asks, squinting in confusion.

Viktor squints right back at him. “Huh?”

“No one was allowed to take pictures in the club. Did someone recognise me and post about it online?”

Something isn’t matching up. “Yuuri…”

“I need to know! This might kill my reputation! My family—” Yuuri’s on the verge of tears. “If _you_ found out, and you spent all your life in Siberia until a year ago, then—”

“ _St. Petersburg_ ,” Viktor corrects him, frowning. “It’s very different from Siberia. And not _all_ my life.”

“How did you know?!” Yuuri appears to be mid-anxiety attack. Viktor can tell he’s imaging all sorts of terrible repercussions, including bringing shame on his family, loss of sponsors, and becoming an international joke. Pole dancing is, in Viktor’s opinion, a beautiful form of artistic expression. (He never really had an opinion on it until Sochi, to be honest.) And there’s nothing wrong with earning money entertaining people—it’s essentially what all athletes do, anyway. Just in more clothes. And less sexually. Well, most of the time, Viktor thinks when Chris comes to mind. But he knows Yuuri’s shy and from a rather conservative culture, so Viktor understands why he’s hyperventilating at the thought of discovery.

“Not many people know, if you think about it,” Viktor says. “Almost everyone was drunk by the end of the night anyway. Well, except the minors, though I think Yurio might’ve snuck some champagne. But no one’s said anything online as far as I know, and I haven’t seen any pictures other than what Chris and Yurio shared privately with me.”

Yuuri’s still breathing hard, but he’s trying to get words out. “Minors? Chris? Yurio? What…are you…talking…about?” he wheezes.

“What am _I_ talking about?” Viktor laughs. “What are _you_ talking about? I don’t think anyone who competed at Sochi could forget—”

“ _What_?!”

“Oh,” Viktor says, finally understanding. “I guess someone forgot.”

Yuuri looks like he’s just been told a beloved pet has died. “Viktoru,” he says, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed how he said Viktor’s name, “what did I forget?”

Viktor wants to cry. He’s so stupid.

“Ah, well,” Viktor says, smiling and looking away. “Just a fun night between friends.”

“What did I do?” Yuuri asks quietly. He touches Viktor’s arm, and Viktor draws a sharp breath. He looks into Yuuri’s eyes and he can’t look away. “Tell me.”

Viktor swallows. “Ah, well,” he begins again. Yuuri looks calmer now, somehow. “You put on a show.”

If possible, Yuuri gets paler. “What kind of show?”

“A strip tease. It was better than Chris’s,” Viktor adds, because it’s true. “There was also a dance competition between you and Yurio, because he wanted to keep me in Russia after you asked me to coach you. You won.” Yuuri looks like he’s going to faint. “Breathe, Yuuri,” Viktor reminds him. “It’ll be OK. Everyone still respects you.”

Yuuri closes his eyes and breathes. “All right. So I got naked with Chris in Sochi—”

“Not completely,” Viktor interrupts, unable to keep the regret from his voice.

“So I humiliated myself in front of the international figure skating community—in front of _you_ —” Yuuri buries his face in his hands.

“Humiliated?” What an idea! “No. Everyone was seriously impressed. You’re really flexible and strong.” He thinks about Yuuri’s jade split. “And you have great Eros.”

Yuuri’s silent for a long time. He mumbles something.

“Pardon?” Viktor asks.

“Were _you_ impressed?”

Viktor pulls Yuuri’s hands from his face and smiles. If Yuuri didn’t care, he wouldn’t be so embarrassed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

And then Viktor sees the realization on Yuuri’s face. He can tell Yuuri is understanding why Viktor showed up the way he did, why Viktor’s been flirting with him nonstop for months.

“What happened that night? I got mostly naked and danced. Anything else?”

“You were so out of it by the end of the night I had to carry you back to your room. It was a bit of an ordeal because you couldn’t remember your room number.”

Yuuri looks less faint and more nauseous now. “You _carried_ me back to my room?”

“I started off escorting you, but you kept stumbling so I just picked you up for the last stretch.” Viktor flushes to remember how Yuuri had wrapped his arms around Viktor’s neck and nuzzled his chest as Viktor, a little tipsy himself, got him safely to his room. Chris, only half-joking, had asked Viktor if they wanted to catch a flight to Stockholm to get married in the morning. Though they’d just met, Viktor would have said yes if he’d thought Yuuri could consent. Viktor’s always felt like he’s known Yuuri for forever, even when there’s still so much he doesn’t know about him.

“But…” It’s clear Yuuri is thinking very hard about something. “You hung up my suit for me?”

“I’m not much in the kitchen but I _do_ know how to care for clothes,” Viktor says. Chris had carried Yuuri’s clothes from the banquet hall when they had failed to persuade Yuuri to put them back on. 

“Did we… Uh, did I…” Yuuri looks on the edge of panic again.

“What?”

“Did we _do_ anything that night?”

Viktor stares at him. “No. Definitely not. Well, you patted my butt as I was leaving your bedside, but that’s about it.”

“Ah. OK. Thanks.”

“I never even considered it, the state you were in.”

Yuuri nods. “And…oh…” Yuuri looks like he’s figured something else out. “The paper.”

“Paper?”

“In my vest pocket. I found it doing laundry when I got back to America. I thought at first it was a phone number someone had given me, but it had too many numbers.” 

Viktor puts his head in his hands. “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri… It was a Russian number, including area and access codes.” Yuuri doesn’t say anything. “ _My_ number,” Viktor clarifies. He had signed it with looping X’s and O’s, never dreaming it would be necessary to include his name.

“I also woke up with way more fifty ruble notes in my wallet than I remembered having the day before.”

“Yes, well, you were very entertaining,” Viktor mutters. He had been responsible for about eighty percent of the bills tucked into the waistband of Yuuri’s boxer briefs. “I did wonder why I got such a lukewarm welcome after you fought so hard for me to be your coach.”

Yuuri slaps his own forehead. “You must have hated me when you first came here! I looked like such a jerk from your point of view!”

Viktor raises his head and catches Yuuri’s eye. “Clearly, I didn’t hate you. I came, didn’t I?” Idiot that he was, Viktor had answered what he thought was an international booty call and more at the drop of a hat when he saw Yuuri’s bewitching silent viral video. So it hadn’t been an invitation?

“But when you got here, and I acted like nothing happened? And—oh my _God_.”

“ _What_?”

“That was you _flirting_ with me? The _whole time_? That’s what all that was? You were _naked in my parents’ house_ when you showed up!”

“Ah, well, I can’t take the credit for that,” Viktor says sheepishly. “It was Chris’s idea…”

“And asking about past lovers! Holding my hand!”

“You mean you couldn’t tell even _then_?” Viktor demands. He had thought Yuuri had understood at least by the time they started holding hands. He knows Yuuri lacks self-esteem and comes from a different culture, but is he _serious_ right now? “I said I could be your boyfriend if you wanted!”

“You also said you could be my father figure,” Yuuri retorts. Viktor bites his tongue. Maybe it’s still a bit too early for that. “Wait a minute,” Yuuri says. He sounds, if possible, even more stunned. “You asked to _sleep_ with me the night you arrived.”

“Did I?” Viktor asks, staring at the ceiling. He is so embarrassed. “I don’t recall.”

“Viktor Nikiforov, how did you let this go on for so long??”

“Um…”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just pack up and leave! You must’ve thought I was so rude!”

Viktor rubs his cheek and grimaces. “Well, I really like you, and I also wanted to make sure you maximized your considerable skating potential this season, so—”

The force with which Yuuri leaps into Viktor’s arms is enough to take them both to the ground. “ _Oy_ ,” Viktor grunts when he hits the floor. He barely has the chance to draw a breath before he loses it again because Yuuri is just holding him, his face buried in Viktor’s chest.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” Yuuri says, his voice muffled by Viktor’s shirtfront. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

-

That night, Viktor escorts Makkachin to Yuuri’s room as usual, and Yuuri throws his arm over Makkachin as usual, and Viktor watches them for a minute or two as usual, and then Yuuri murmurs something different.

“Vitenka,” Yuuri says. He sounds annoyed.

Now Viktor knows Yuuri’s talking to or about _him_ , Viktor the man, and not a beloved deceased pet, because months ago, when Yuuri asked him if anyone ever called him anything but Viktor, Viktor had told him about Russian pet names and Vitya and Vitenka. And how Vitenka was the most intimate form of his name. Yuuri had never heard of either at the time.

Viktor has forgotten he has a corporeal form. Nothing seems real. “How many more months are you just going to stand in the doorway and watch?” Yuuri continues. “Come to bed.”

Viktor must be hallucinating. 

This is it.

He’s gone mad with love.

All these months?

But then Yuuri flops back the duvet and pats the mattress once next to Makkachin, so Viktor pads across the room on a cloud and sinks into bed next to Yuuri. He’s trying to play it cool, like this isn’t something he’s dreamt about for months on end, more than about kissing Yuuri or anything else, but when Yuuri drapes an arm over Viktor’s chest and sighs, Viktor can’t hold back the tremble that pulses through his body. 

He’s ecstatic, but terrified.

He’s in Yuuri’s bed. He’s never been here before. Yuuri’s never even invited Viktor into his room before.

“Vitenka,” Yuuri murmurs again, and he presses his nose into Viktor’s shoulder. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?” Viktor bites his lip to keep from saying anything. Yuuri gives a nervous laugh. “It’s like a dream.”

Yuuri’s soft masculine scent, saturating the pillows and duvet, catches at the back of Viktor’s throat when he inhales deep. Yuuri’s warmer than Makkachin and more solid, stronger, less predictable. 

“Yuuri.” Viktor sighs and brushes Yuuri’s hair back from where it’s spilled across his forehead. “I’m warm now. Good night.” 

“Good night,” Yuuri mumbles. He might be blushing. 

Viktor sure as hell is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Oy (Russian) - sound of surprise


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles. Pure fluff. Puppies. Confessions. 
> 
> \+ build up for feet stuff per requests (⌒‿⌒)

Viktor wakes first. He’s been trained to wake around 5:25 every morning for two decades, and, like forced smiles and showmanship, it’s a hard habit to kick.

He doesn’t know where he is right away. It smells different (better) than usual, and the dawn light is coming from an unusual angle. He’s deliciously warm. The pillows are soft and rising past his ears. Someone’s hugging him from behind.

He rubs his eyes, lifts the duvet, and looks down at his stomach. There’s an arm draped over his _jinbei_ top, fingers trailing over his lowest ribs. The fingernails are freshly manicured.

Yuuri.

Viktor tries not to move too much when he looks over his shoulder. It really _is_ Yuuri there, spooning him. His mouth is slightly open, his fluffy black hair tousled, his expression vacant. And beyond Yuuri is Makkachin, also accustomed to early mornings. Makkachin sits up and grins his wide doggy grin when Viktor catches his eye, as if to say, “You’re welcome”. His tail thumps once against the duvet.

“ _Spasibo_ ,” Viktor mutters, and nestles back into the pillows. Yuuri tightens his hold in response to Viktor’s movements and shuffles closer, nudging his toes between Viktor’s heels. Is he awake? “Yuuri?” Viktor tries. Yuuri doesn’t reply.

Whatever. Awake or asleep, Viktor’s content to bask in Yuuri’s presence like this for as long as he can. 

-

Yuuri begins to stir at around 6:00. He rubs his nose between Viktor’s shoulder blades, then presses his hips into Viktor’s back. Viktor tenses.

“Morning,” Yuuri mumbles. He doesn’t sound embarrassed to find himself spooning his coach/boyfriend in his bed. “Good sleep?”

“The very best,” Viktor says, trying to distract himself from how Yuuri’s front is still a little _too_ close for comfort. Viktor doesn’t want to wriggle away, exactly, but if they stay like this any longer…

Yuuri releases Viktor and flops onto his back. Maybe he noticed? Viktor rolls onto his stomach and gazes at Yuuri.

“You’re really pretty in the morning,” Viktor says after a moment.

Yuuri covers his face with the blanket. “Thanks.”

“Well, all the time, but especially in the morning.” Viktor coaxes the blanket down. “I think I have morning breath, but I kind of want to kiss you.”

Yuuri glances at him out the corner of his eyes. “I have morning breath, but I kind of want to kiss you too.”

“Do you think it’ll cancel out?”

“I don’t know.” Yuuri rolls onto his side. Makkachin, who went back to sleep earlier, doesn’t wake. “I don’t care.”

Viktor twines his fingers through Yuuri’s unkempt hair as they lie on their sides facing one another and rub noses. This gradually transitions to whisper-soft kisses, Yuuri’s hand on Viktor’s hip, drawing him closer, closer… Drawing him on top…

Viktor presses the lengths of their bodies together and slides a hand under Yuuri’s shirt. His skin is smooth as silk.

 _Oh, Yuuri_.

That’s when Viktor notices.

This shirt is awfully familiar.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” Viktor asks, pausing. He feels Yuuri stiffen beneath him.

“Uh…”

He is. It’s the blue and white striped Yves Saint Laurent pullover. It might’ve been a women’s style, Viktor can’t remember. “How did you even get it?”

“I just saw it in the laundry yesterday…”

“You look good in it.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says nervously. “I keep stealing your clothes, it’s weird.”

“It’s cute,” Viktor says. He gives Yuuri a peck on the lips. “Don’t apologize. And don’t stop.”

“K,” is Yuuri’s muffled reply when Viktor starts in on his neck. Maybe they can pick up where they left off yesterday…

“Um, Viktor?” Yuuri says after a few minutes. The blue and white striped pullover is hiked up to Yuuri’s collarbones and Viktor’s jinbei top has slipped down his shoulder.

“Hmm?” With some regret, Viktor pulls his lips from the centre of Yuuri’s chest.

“I think you need to know,” Yuuri begins, and he looks so anxious Viktor freezes. When Yuuri doesn’t continue, Viktor prompts him.

“Y-e-e-s…?”

“Iwasn’tjokingwhenIsaidI’dneverhadalover.” Yuuri clamps a hand over his mouth. Viktor stares.

“Slower.”

“What?”

“Slower, please, English is my second language and I didn’t live five years in America.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath, removes his hand, and stares at the ceiling. “I wasn’t joking when I said I’d never had a lover,” he repeats. “So. Um. I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

Much as it pains him to do so, Viktor crawls off Yuuri and lies beside him. He’s a little surprised, to be honest. He’d assumed, when he learnt Yuuri and Phichit used to live together… At least… “That’s fine. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“You can still touch me,” Yuuri murmurs, and he rests a hand on Viktor’s wrist as he gazes at him. It’s all Viktor can do to keep from getting lost in Yuuri’s beautiful brown eyes when he’s so earnest and defenseless. “But I just…um…need a little more time before I’m ready to do more than kiss and cuddle. OK?”

“Absolutely.” Viktor snuggles closer to Yuuri and hugs him. “You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he repeats. “I don’t have much experience either.” He can feel Yuuri’s already rapid heartbeat accelerate through the borrowed shirt.

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No,” Viktor replies. “People are usually too intimidated to try anything to begin with,” he says candidly. “You’ll understand once you’re a five-time world champion too. And I’ve been busy and a bit of a misfit my whole life, so anyone who got close never stuck around for long. It’s hard when they don’t know what it’s like to have to fly all over the world to perform or do shoots, to go to the rink almost every day, to always be working out, to watch what I’m eating constantly… And not everyone likes how I am in a relationship, you know? I’ve been called _clingy_.”

“Clingy?” Yuuri sounds so surprised Viktor needs to nuzzle his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“I thought all Westerners were like this.”

“Westerner” must be a relative term. Viktor snorts. “Have you _met_ Yurio?”

“Good point.” Yuuri fingers Viktor’s jinbei top, then draws it back up over his shoulder for him. This little act of modesty melts Viktor’s heart. “So you always put your career first?”

“Before you, yes.”

Yuuri bows his head. “I really did steal you from the world…”

“I fled the world and came to you,” Viktor corrects him.

It’s true.

-

Viktor knows it’s a cultural norm in Japan to _do_ nice things for the people one loves rather than _say_ nice things. But the nice things one does aren’t supposed to be _obvious_. Viktor read a book about it. He has the impression Yuuri is embarrassed by declarations, and even more so by grand gestures, so Viktor settles for little affectionate gestures. Lip salve and shoulder massages were the beginnings, but the time has come for Viktor to do _more_.

“Here,” he says later that morning when Yuuri is struggling to comb out the knots in his hair after his shower. Viktor normally only does Yuuri’s hair for him before competitions, but now he draws the comb from Yuuri’s fingers. “Let me do that.”

Yuuri sits still and rigid as Viktor gently untangles his hair and parts it neatly how Yuuri normally does it. He’s careful not to let his touch linger, much as he wants it to.

“Thanks,” Yuuri says, eyes shining. Once, he would never have let Viktor touch him like this, let alone do something so intimate and every-day for him. But he’s changed. Bit by bit, Yuuri is growing comfortable with Viktor’s diluted expressions of affection.

When they’re at Ice Castle after breakfast, Viktor ties Yuuri’s skates for him. He’s wanted to do it for ages, but he was never confident enough to kneel in front of Yuuri and be vulnerable to rejection like that. Yuuri seems a little surprised at first, but he doesn’t shoo Viktor away.

“Good?” Viktor asks when he’s done. Yuuri’s skates are so worn Viktor knows he tied them tight enough in all the right places.

“Perfect. Thanks.” Yuuri swoops down to plant a kiss on the top of Viktor’s head, where he had poked it so long ago and then again at the Cup of China. Then he takes Viktor’s hand and leads him onto the ice.

-

Yuuri’s feet, pampered ritualistically at the Pink Lotus every three weeks, are always in rough shape. Viktor has watched aestheticians handle them with a nonchalance typical of their profession with envy burning in his heart. Viktor wants to do that for Yuuri. He wants to be the one to touch his feet, to sooth his aches, to erase suffering with pleasure. It’s not a kink, really. But feet are sensitive and intimate, and Yuuri’s, so central to his profession, are in dire need of attention.

Viktor wants to care for every part of Yuuri eventually, but he knows it’s wisest to establish roots before climbing branches and reaching for fruit. He isn’t sure how to ask, but he wants more than anything to start by caring for Yuuri’s poor feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Jinbei (Japanese) – pyjamas  
> Spasibo (Russian) – thanks


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foot rubs for Sars and cuddles. 
> 
> Rostelecom + plot up next!

> _so this little piggy is coming 2 russia in a few wks_
> 
> _were waiting 4 him_
> 
> _lets make salo a national dish_

Yurio is from Moscow. Viktor knows facing Yuuri on his home turf at the Rostelecom Cup after the embarrassment of the Onsen On Ice competition is something Yurio has wanted for months.

-

Figure skaters’ feet aren’t as bad as ballet dancers’, but they aren’t pretty. Yuuri dances a little and skates a lot, so his feet are callused and spotted with bruises and blisters in various phases of healing. Though Viktor’s influence ensures Yuuri’s toenails, at least, are pristine, Viktor shudders to think of what Yuuri’s muscles and tendons must be like. Viktor skates less than he once did, but he still remembers the endless cramps, aches, sprains, and strains.

It’s late evening and Viktor and Yuuri have just left the showers at the onsen. Yuuri deliberately averts his gaze as usual until Viktor is dressed in his jinbei. Once he has tied his top in place, Viktor plucks up the courage to offer Yuuri something he’s planned for weeks.

“You’ve been working so hard lately. Your feet must be sore,” Viktor says, needlessly toweling his hair again and trying not to look too invested. “Do you want a foot rub?”

Yuuri stares at him, mouth slack, for several seconds. He’s frozen in the act of pulling on a slipper. “A foot…rub?”

Viktor crinkles his nose. “Massage? Is that the word?”

“I know what you meant,” Yuuri says, finally donning the slipper. “Foot rub was right. I just wasn’t sure that’s what you actually said.”

“Well, do you want one?”

“From _you_?”

“Yes.”

Yuuri runs a hand through his hair and gazes at the ceiling. His glasses are foggy. “Um…”

“I did research!” Three hours of YouTube videos culminating in an off-site link, but Viktor won’t mention that. “I’m probably decent.”

“Um…”

“One time Georgi had a really bad foot cramp and I got it out for him. He said I should switch careers.”

“He would say that.”

“Oh.” Viktor hadn’t thought of that.

Yuuri looks apologetic. “You could try, I guess. If you want. I’m a little ticklish though.”

Viktor beams. “Great! Why don’t we go to my room? My bed’s bigger than yours.”

“You want to do this in _bed_?” Yuuri sounds mortified.

“Sure, where else can you lie down and relax?”

-

Yuuri lies on his back on Viktor’s bed and doesn’t even take off his socks. He doesn’t look relaxed. Viktor has a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle lotion at the ready. It smells like oranges and roses with a whisper of patchouli. He’s already put on some soothing music: Enya’s _The Memory of Trees_ album. Makkachin is curled next to Yuuri, muzzle resting on his paws.

Viktor touches Yuuri’s right foot and Yuuri springs away. Makkachin lifts his head and snorts in disapproval before resettling and closing his eyes.

“A foot massage requires you to lie still, you know,” Viktor reprimands him.

“Yeah, sorry,” Yuuri says. “Ticklish, remember?” He takes off his socks for Viktor, revealing a few blue, green, and yellow bruises as well as one unopened blister. He has a cracked big toenail despite recent nail-strengthening treatments at the Pink Lotus. Viktor issues an empathic hiss.

“This looks painful,” Viktor says, tracing a circle around the blister.

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, wincing. “It popped up today. Shouldn’t’ve worn the socks I did, but all my good ones were in the wash.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

Viktor sits cross-legged at Yuuri’s feet and takes the left one into his lap. He pumps a coin-sized amount of lotion into the palm of his left hand, then rubs it against his right. He begins the massage slowly, coating Yuuri’s foot in a thin layer of the creamy lotion, sliding his hands over Yuuri’s arch and behind his heel, circumnavigating the blister, trailing a finger up the midline of his sole and bestowing a lover’s touch upon each toe. Yuuri’s foot twitches at this, and he lets out a low moan. Viktor’s spine tingles.

“Uh, that tickles, a little,” Yuuri says quickly, but he doesn’t pull away as he did the first time Viktor touched him. Viktor is skeptical, especially when Yuuri pulls half the comforter over himself, covering him from his neck to his knees. “Chilly.”

As the minutes pass, Viktor becomes more absorbed by the sight of his hands on Yuuri’s body like this, the sensation of caressing him, of soothing him… He glances at Yuuri’s face. Yuuri’s eyes are closed, his lips are parted, and his breaths come slowly and evenly. Viktor smiles into his chest and returns his attentions to Yuuri’s foot.

After fifteen minutes, Viktor switches to the right foot.

“Viktoru…” Yuuri flexes his toes when Viktor releases his left foot, and it takes Viktor a moment to realize Yuuri’s talking in his sleep. Viktor licks his lips as he pumps more lotion into his hand, and then he pampers Yuuri’s right foot in the same fashion as his left. There is something so satisfying—no, gratifying—in what they are doing. With Yuuri restful between his hands, Viktor feels perfectly at peace. He could do this for days. Weeks. Years. A lifetime. Pleasing Yuuri. Relaxing him. Making him feel special.

Yuuri _is_ special.

When Yuuri’s muscles are loose, every knot in his sole kneaded to submission with a firm but tender rhythm, Viktor sets them to rest against the sheets. He can’t stop staring at Yuuri’s imperfect skater’s feet. And then, before he knows what he’s doing, Viktor dips his head forward and presses his nose to the sole of Yuuri’s left foot.

“Yuuri.” Viktor breathes against the fresh, moisturized skin. “Oh, Yuuri.” Yuuri sighs, eyelashes fluttering.

Viktor cleans his hands, turns off the music, switches off the lights, and crawls into bed next to Yuuri. He slides the glasses off Yuuri’s nose and puts them on the windowsill. Yuuri doesn’t stir, not even when Viktor cuddles close to him and rests his fingertips on Yuuri’s hip. As he has daydreamed about doing for months before he even arrived in Japan, Viktor nudges his forehead between Yuuri’s shoulder blades. And then Yuuri reaches over his shoulder and runs his fingers blindly through Viktor’s hair.

“Thank you, Vitenka.”

He wasn’t asleep. Is he ever? Yuuri releases Viktor’s hair and nestles backwards into Viktor’s chest. Viktor closes his eyes, heart pounding, affection swelling in his breast beyond all previously known levels. It’s hard, but he eventually falls asleep, the scent of roses and oranges and Yuuri winding through his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Salo (Russian) – food consisting of cured pig fat


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ballet. Vodka. Rostelecom. Sick Makkachin. Maybe a little angst. Quiet declarations.
> 
> Language accuracy a bit clumsy at parts because we don’t know Viktor’s patronymic! And modern Russian between strangers is a little awkward to translate if you don’t want to come off flat out rude. Wouldn’t work the way it’s presented here. Oh well. ┐(‘～` )┌

Viktor was right. Yuuri loves the Bolshoi. It seems to take his mind off the impending Rosetelecom Cup competition in Moscow. Viktor watches more Yuuri than ballet the evening they go to the grand old theatre in central Moscow. He is captivated by the sight of Yuuri in a tuxedo, leaning forward, elbows on knees, chin in hands, as he gazes out from their box seats and stares, transfixed, at the dancers on the stage.

“This is amazing,” Yuuri says at the intermission. He has stars in his eyes and his skin is glowing. “I’ve never seen anyone move like them.” He squeezes Viktor’s elbow discretely. “I love this,” he whispers. Somehow, Viktor can tell Yuuri means more than the ballet.

Rendered temporarily speechless, Viktor doesn’t react right away when a fan approaches.

“Viktor Nikiforov?” Viktor eventually twists around in search of the source of the address. A handsome man a few years his senior is making eyes at him. “ _Bozhe moy_ , it _is_ you. Welcome home!”

The man introduces himself as Anatoly Petrovich Vasiliev, and he talks Viktor’s ear off for about ninety seconds, touching Viktor’s arm in a familiar way to emphasize just how much he knows about Viktor’s career and time in Japan. This behaviour is strange to Viktor, who has grown accustomed to Japan’s mostly hands-off culture. Though a little uncomfortable, Viktor laughs and treats Anatoly with the same courtesy he would any other fan. And then Yuuri intercedes.

“We should be getting back to our seats, don’t you agree?” he asks in English, putting a light hand in the small of Viktor’s back. “I think I heard the chimes.” He gazes at Anatoly with a hard look in his eyes. Viktor doubts Yuuri followed any of the rapid Russian for the past minute and a half, but he seems to have understood Viktor’s body language perfectly.

“Oh, you’re right,” Viktor says, suddenly flustered. How unlike him. “Sorry, Anatoly Petrovich, but I really must return to my seat.”

Anatoly looks at Yuuri for the first time. “Is this the Japanese Yuuri?” he asks in heavily accented English, sounding surprised. He smiles in a wolfish sort of way. “Russia welcomes you with open arms.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, bowing reflexively. Anatoly smiles wider. “Good night.” And, despite the crowds, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand and leads him back to their seats.

If Viktor couldn’t pay attention to the performance before the intermission, he doesn’t even know where he is after it. Some beautiful parallel universe, apparently. He holds Yuuri’s hand in his lap and smiles to himself for the remainder of the performance.

-

Viktor knows better than to tempt Yuuri with alcohol the night before a performance, but he does indulge in a little _Stolichnaya_ himself.

“After the competition, I’m taking you out for Stoli,” Viktor says. They’re having digestifs at a fancy restaurant in Moscow’s Khamovniki District. Yuuri’s is alcohol-free. “You’ve never had vodka until you’ve had Stoli. You’ll rethink what you know about it.”

Yuuri casts him a bemused expression. “Do you just want to see me drunk again?”

Viktor reaches across the table and takes Yuuri’s hands. “No. But if you wanted to bestow upon me the gift of a private performance involving you, a pole, and absolutely nothing else, I would never, ever object.” His English always tilts to the ridiculous when he’s buzzed. He hasn’t yet achieved what Yuuri once affectionately described as “czar drunk”, and he doesn’t intend to. Not tonight, anyway.

Yuuri swallows audibly.

“I liked seeing you so confident this evening,” Viktor continues. He can feel he’s grinning like a fool. “Bring that to the ice tomorrow, and you’ll seduce all of Russia the way you have me.”

-

The crowd chants Viktor’s name before Yuuri’s short programme. Viktor, never one to ignore his fans, waves, laughing and smiling, at the thousands of people cheering for him. 

In one fluid, self-assured movement, Yuuri grabs Viktor by the tie and jerks him forward and down. Viktor, shocked, almost loses his balance. Head bowed, he looks up at Yuuri from under his lashes. 

“The performance has already begun,” Yuuri says. His voice sounds different than usual. Deeper. More confident. Sexy.

“You’re right.” He is, but Viktor would agree with anything Yuuri says at this point.

“Don’t worry. I’ll show my love to the whole of Russia.” Yuuri releases Viktor and swoops to the centre of the rink without looking back. Yuuri has a possessive streak. Viktor likes it. He likes it even more when Yuuri blows the judges a kiss at the beginning of his performance. They all gape at him. 

Yuuri’s performance is flawless. The entirety of the Megasport Arena’s audience is on its feet screaming his name. It doesn’t matter that Viktor can practically hear angels singing when Yurio emerges to perform Agape, because Yuuri’s score is announced and he’s surpassed his personal best. Again.

Viktor is overcome with pride and adoration. He gets down on his knees, seizes Yuuri’s skate, and kisses it. Yuuri, already pink-cheeked with exertion, becomes radiant.

“Vitenka…” Yuuri has never called Viktor that outside the bedroom. In that moment, Viktor transcends the normal plane of happiness. He is on cloud nine. Higher. Cloud eleven. It’s Eros and Agape. He’s Yuuri’s and the world can see it. The cameras are flashing and the crowd is roaring and Yurio might be having a stroke a few paces to the left, but Viktor doesn’t notice any of it. All he sees is Yuuri. He can’t take his eyes off him. Should he propose? He’s in the right position. He would marry Yuuri in a heartbeat. He doesn’t have a ring, but does that matter?

Viktor decides against an impulsive engagement for the time being, even though he’s certain their end game involves an international, star-studded interfaith wedding with matching Armani tuxedos and more champagne than the north of France can provide. Maybe Yuuri can teach him how to climb a pole for their first dance.

Or maybe Viktor can just be the pole.

Viktor’s head remains in the clouds until Yuuri takes a phone call and then orders him back to Japan. Viktor plummets back to earth.

“What? Why?”

Yuuri tells him about Makkachin. They have their first real argument. People stop and stare, because it’s a tense trilingual yelling match and no matter how much Viktor loves Makkachin, he could never, ever leave Yuuri to face the free skate alone in Russia when he’s the man to beat.  

Viktor rubs his forehead to hide his eyes after he snaps at Yuuri in his broken Japanese. His practice sessions with his private tutor and Mrs. Katsuki did not prepare him for this. He feels like he’s being torn to pieces. He could cry. And then he notices Yakov. 

No one seems happy about the arrangement, but Yakov, Viktor’s greatest coaching inspiration, agrees to coach Yuuri for tomorrow. Good. It isn’t a perfect arrangement, but it will have to do.

-

After a long, lonely flight, Viktor takes the train from Fukuoka Aeroport to Hasetsu. He hasn’t slept since Moscow. He’s worried for so many reasons and the time change confuses him. He’s staring out the window at the passing countryside when his phone pings.

> _hey_. It’s Yuuri. _are you awake_

Yuuri’s too nervous to use kaomoji, punctuation, or capitals, so Viktor knows it’s bad.

_You’ll be OK_ , Viktor says. _I believe in you._

> _they’re calling me_

_I’m thinking of you_ , Viktor says, and he wishes he’d phoned Yuuri instead of texted him, but talking on transit is a faux pas Japan and Viktor is learning how to be less awkward. Spending so much time with a hypervigilant Yuuri certainly helped. _I’m always thinking of you_ xo

> _xo_ xo, Yuuri replies.

When there’s nothing further, Viktor knows he must be headed to the ice. The internet reception is so poor he can’t stream Yuuri’s performance, so Viktor bows his head for a full three minutes and forty seconds as he imagines Yuuri’s routine. In his mind, Yuuri completes it perfectly. Viktor allows an additional twenty minutes for Yuuri to get from the ice to the kiss and cry to his dressing room before he tries to contact him.

_How’d it go?_ Viktor asks.

Nothing for ten minutes. Viktor tries again.

_Is everything OK?_

> _yakov hugged me_

Still too stressed for punctuation or capitals. Yakov hugged Yuuri? What had Yuuri done to prompt such unprecedented tenderness? And then Viktor knows. A crushed Yuuri would melt Yakov like vanilla _stakanchik_ on a hot day. Yakov is the epitome of tough love, but when the chips are down, he protects his own.

_Everything is fine, Yuuri. You don’t need to worry._

> _did you see it_

_No internet. You don’t need to go through it again for me now. But your eros was perfect and it’ll carry you._

> _i was terrible_

Viktor won’t argue, because he didn’t see it.

_It’ll be OK_

> _im sorry_

_Is there anything I can do or say for you from here?_

> _no_
> 
> _i wish you were here_
> 
> _but i know you cant be so its ok_
> 
> _im sorry_

Viktor goes to the washroom and phones Yuuri. He cranks the volume and stuffs in some earbuds.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri blurts when he picks up. Viktor can tell by his halting breaths and distant snuffling that he’s crying.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, shaking his head even though Yuuri can’t see him. “Don’t be sorry. I know you always do your best.”

“But it wasn’t, it wasn’t my best, it was my worst—”

“Worse than last year?”

“No, but—”

“Then—”

“—I’m a failure, everyone was supporting me and loving me and I’ve let you all down—”

“You’ll be—”

“I can’t believe I did this to all of you after everything you’ve done for me—”

“ _Listen to me_.” Yuuri falls silent when he hears Viktor’s stern tone. “It’s done. It depends on how the others do now. It doesn’t mean the end. And”—Viktor grabs a hand rail to keep from losing his balance as the train sways—”it’ll never be the end for me anyway.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything.

“Did you hear me?” Viktor says, louder. “I said—”

“I heard you.”

There’s a very long silence. “Where are you?” Yuuri asks finally. He sounds calmer.

“Train,” Viktor says. He glances at his Rolex. “An hour from Hasetsu, I think.”

He waits on the line with Yuuri until the final scores are announced. Yuuri qualifies for the Grand Prix Final. They’re quiet once Yuuri has shared the news.

“I knew you’d be OK,” Viktor says eventually. “I never doubted you.”

“That makes one of us,” Yuuri says weakly. “Sorry, can I call you back? I need to hug some people.”

“That’s fine. Wish it were me.”

“Me too.”

When Yuuri calls back, his voice is ragged. “I’m so tired,” he says.

“Go back to the hotel, take a hot shower, and then go to sleep,” Viktor says, Coach Mode activated. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They ring off and Viktor exits the washroom. An annoyed-looking businessman rushes past him, but Viktor barely notices. They’re going to the Grand Prix Final!

-

“Shit shit shit shit shit sorry shit sorry shit shit shit,” Mari says when she comes to pick up Viktor from the train station. She started apologizing the second she leaned over to open the passenger door and doesn’t stop as she tears away from the kerb with a screech and a jolt. Viktor hugs his one suitcase to his chest (he’s picked up the art of travelling light/er from Yuuri). “ _Buckle up_ I’m so so so sorry this is all my fault and now Yuuri’s alone in Russia shit sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Viktor says, staring out the window. He hopes it will be, but right now, he’s faking togetherness with everything he has. Before Yuuri, Makkachin was Viktor’s greatest constant, his personal joy, a reason to get out of bed in the morning other than skating. And now Yuuri has come to mean as much and more to him, and Viktor left him to compete alone in the country where he fell hardest last season.

Maybe Yakov was right when he said Viktor was just “playing” coach.

“If Makkchan dies, I’ll personally propose to Yuuri for you, OK? I’ll phrase it so he can’t say no,” Mari says, brushing wisps of hair from her face.

Viktor forces a weak smile. “That won’t be necessary.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mari look away from the road to stare at him.

“You already _did_?!” she screams as the car swerves.

“No,” Viktor murmurs. He clutches the armrest and grits his teeth. “All in due course. Now please tell me about Makkachin.”

-

The second Viktor has assured himself Makkachin will survive, he calls Yuuri. He’s sitting in a corner on the floor in the vet’s surgical ward, Makkachin’s head in his lap. Viktor had hated seeing Makkachin on the gurney, so he’d picked him up and brought him to the floor.

He’s emotionally and physically drained after the happenings of the past twenty-four hours.

“Sorry for waking you. I just wanted to hear your voice,” Viktor says softly into the mouthpiece when Yuuri, clearing the sleep from his throat, answers. Viktor scratches behind Makkachin’s ears. Makkachin is still a little drugged from the pain medications, but his tail swishes once or twice any time Viktor says something.

“Is he—?”

“The vet says he’ll be OK.”

“Thank goodness.”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

When Yuuri’s voice crackles over the line, it’s low and husky. “I told you to go. You needed to. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Yuuri sighs. His voice gets lower. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Viktor hugs Makkachin and wishes Yuuri could be in his arms now too. “I’ll pick you up in Fukuoka tomorrow. But you should be sleeping. We don’t want you to get sick. I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now.” There’s a long pause across the distance, and Viktor knows Yuuri is thinking about being in their warm cocoon again too.

“All right,” Yuuri replies at last. “But can you stay on the line until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Viktor whispers. He slips sideways and leans his head against the wall, a hand resting between Makkachin’s ears. “Do you want me to talk?”

“Yes please.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything.”

So Viktor tells Yuuri about how he met Makkachin. It’s a long story, and by the time he’s done, Yuuri doesn’t respond to Viktor’s gentle repetitions of his name. Viktor can hear Yuuri’s breathing, slow and even, and he knows Yuuri’s asleep. Viktor hesitates before he disconnects.

He swallows hard. If there’s anything this incident with Makkachin has taught Viktor, it’s that life is too unpredictable and short. “I love you, Yuuri,” Viktor says, in English, because even if Yuuri’s sleeping, Viktor needs him to understand. Yuuri’s breathing doesn’t change. Viktor closes his eyes and rings off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Bozhe moy (Russian) – my God 
> 
> Stakanchik (Russian) – a kind of wafer cup filled with ice cream, tastes like Soviet summers and socialism
> 
> Stoli, Stolichnaya (Russian) – the only vodka that counts


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion! Apologies! Casual nudity!
> 
> All the hugs for Kitarakit and hugs + (a little) open conversation for macca (NelyafinweFeanorion). More to come!
> 
> ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ

It’s late at Fukuoka International Aeroport. Viktor has been waiting for hours. He drove all the way from Hasetsu to spare Yuuri taking the train and couldn’t be persuaded to leave at a reasonable hour. He tried to sight-see in Fukuoka in the afternoon, but even the Sofukuji Temple and Momochi seaside could not capture his attention while a reunion with Yuuri occupied his thoughts. He knew it was bad when he had to text Georgi to stay sane during Yuuri’s flight-long radio silence.

Viktor can barely keep it together now, knowing mere minutes separate them.

> _Landed!_ _(((o(*°_ _▽_ _°*)o)))_ Yuuri’s text had said a quarter of an hour earlier. _See you soon!! xo_

_Waiting with Makka. Can’t wait to see you xoxoxoxoxoxo_

Viktor sits on a bench near the terminal exit and watches throngs of tired and bedraggled travellers trudging from their planes. In the sea of masked people, Viktor’s worried he might not see Yuuri. He’s distressed for a moment, but then he catches sight of a familiar step. Yuuri, standing taller for all Viktor’s coaching, his glasses glinting, passes by on the other side of the glass partition. Makkachin barks in excitement, bounds toward Yuuri, and presses his nose against the glass. Viktor stands and locks gazes with Yuuri. Yuuri looks exhausted, and he’s wearing a surgical mask, and his hair is sticking up in all directions, but he’s the single most beautiful thing Viktor has ever seen.

Yuuri rips down his mask and starts to run. Before he knows it, Viktor is running too, Makkachin on his heels. He almost trips over a potted plant because he’s running blind, eyes on Yuuri and only Yuuri as they sprint together to the terminal exit.

It takes an age for the sliding doors to open. Yuuri’s on his toes, shifting his weight like an anxious puppy until they’re wide enough for him to pass through. Viktor knows Yuuri isn’t big on public displays of affection away from the rink (he hadn’t even hugged Viktor back when Viktor departed Russia), so he leaves the choice up to Yuuri; he waits with his arms outstretched, which has become a habit. Yuuri can choose what they do next.

Yuuri launches himself into Viktor’s arms.

Viktor takes Yuuri against his chest, rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, and holds him, warm, solid, strong, and trembling. Viktor clings to Yuuri, inhaling his scent and exhaling worry and doubt. Yuuri makes a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob.

He might be more than seven thousand kilometres from St. Petersburg, but Viktor is home.

Viktor has things he needs to say. Like how he can’t bear the idea of being away from Yuuri like this again. Like how they should be by one another’s sides for the rest of time. Like how if Viktor must return to Russia to resurrect his career, Yuuri should come with him. Viktor interrupts their quiet embrace.

“Yuuri, I’ve been thinking about what I should do going forward. As your coach,” he says softly.

“Yeah, so have I.”

He has?

Putting an abrupt end to their hug, Yuuri pushes Viktor away. If Yuuri weren’t gripping him by the shoulders, Viktor would have fallen backward. He feels like the breath has been wrung from his chest. What’s going on? Did he misunderstand? Again? He thought he was taking his cues from Yuuri, but then why did he—

“Viktor, will you be my coach until I retire?”

Viktor still can’t catch his breath, but it’s for a different reason now. Buying time, he plucks Yuuri’s hand from his sleeve and draws his fingers to his lips.

Breathe, Viktor reminds himself. Breathe. It’s OK. Everything’s OK. He takes a deep breath.

“That sounded like a marriage proposal,” Viktor replies. Best get the boy at least thinking about it if he isn’t already. Viktor has plans. He’s had plans since day one. Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor again and draws their bodies together. Viktor melts into him. “In that case, I hope you never retire.” Then they will always be together.

There’s no mistaking the sound Yuuri makes this time. It’s a sob.

Why is he crying? Viktor’s never been happier. Makkachin, tail wagging, stands on his hind legs and puts his paws on Viktor’s hip.

“Let’s win gold together at the Grand Prix Final,” Yuuri whispers.

Viktor smiles into Yuuri’s neck.

-

Yuuri holds Viktor’s hand all the way to the car. He almost doesn’t let go when Viktor loosens his grip to make for the driver’s side.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, opening the passenger door one-handed. “I’m going to need my hand back for a moment.”

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s fingers once and releases him, sliding into the passenger side. Viktor shuts the door for him, tosses his suitcase in the boot, then skids to the driver’s door and jumps in. Yuuri seizes Viktor’s left hand and holds it against his knee.

Thank goodness the rental agency was out of standards, Viktor thinks. He got an automatic for twice the usual price because there was nothing else and Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki needed their car for errands. This means Viktor has one hand free all the way back to Hasetsu, and Yuuri never lets him go.

When they’re back at the ryokan and Yuuri’s had his evening shower, Yuuri drags Viktor to his bedroom, pushes him onto the double bed, gets in next to him, and holds onto him so tightly Viktor’s ribs begin to ache after a minute. He can’t take full breaths.

“Uh, Yuuri?” Viktor rasps. Makkachin, curled next to Yuuri, whines.

“Please, can we never do that again?” Yuuri asks. He doesn’t lighten his grip. “I missed you so much. I just…I just want you near me, always.” He’s shaking, silky hair quivering against Viktor’s neck.

“Of course,” Viktor says, trying to get a gasp of air as discreetly as possible. “I want what you want. I want to be together…always.”

Yuuri’s grip slackens. He nuzzles into Viktor’s chest. “Perfect.”

-

The next morning, Viktor finds Yuuri’s rumpled t-shirt from yesterday on the bathroom floor. Viktor gazes at it a long moment, tapping his lips absently with his fingertip. He comes to a split decision. He retrieves the shirt and puts it on. It’s a little snug in the shoulders and a smidgen too short, but it smells like Yuuri and this alone means Viktor never wants to take it off. Wearing this shirt means wearing Yuuri’s scent right next to his skin like a signature perfume. Viktor skips his Clive Christian 1872 for the day.

When Viktor ambles into the dining area, Yuuri, who is already tucking into breakfast, stares at him. He doesn’t say anything, just eyes the sliver of skin bared between the top of Viktor’s pants and the hem of Yuuri’s shirt. Viktor wonders if he should dig out his collection of crop tops.

“Do you mind?” Viktor asks when he sits next to Yuuri and nudges him with his elbow. 

Yuuri’s gaze darts to Viktor’s waist and then to his face. 

“Wear whatever you want, whenever you want. Although…” Viktor wonders if he’s taken things too far. “You look better in nothing,” Yuuri finishes. 

Viktor blinks. Did he misunderstand him?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yuuri asks, sounding nervous. He puts down his chopsticks. 

“I thought you hadn’t noticed,” Viktor says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock astonishment. He’s more surprised Yuuri voiced such an opinion. He’s gotten more confident in their short time apart. Maybe it was surviving the last half of the Rostelecom Cup on his own despite all the pressures. Or perhaps Yuuri’s realized the importance of being upfront in the wake of Makkachin’s accident as well. Viktor can’t tell if he would have preferred an “I love you”, but this will do for now. 

“How could I _not_?” Yuuri demands, poking Viktor’s narrow strip of bare tummy. “You’re naked or nearly naked as often as not!” 

Viktor grabs hold of Yuuri’s offending fingertip. “I’ll remember what you said,” he warns, then releases Yuuri. Mrs. Katsuki arrives with a smile and steaming breakfast for Viktor. She pats him on the shoulder, humming, before returning to the kitchen to prepare breakfast with Mr. Katsuki for their guests. The Katsukis’ ryokan has been quite popular with both Japanese citizens and foreigners since Viktor began singing its praises all over his social media when he first arrived. He never stopped. Yuuri mentioning it during his interviews must have helped too. Turns out tradition has a way of coming back around. 

-

It’s night, and Yuuri and his freshly massaged feet have already tucked into Viktor’s bed, Makkachin at his side on top of the blankets. Viktor returns from the bathroom in his jinbei, his breath minty fresh, and stands at the foot of the bed for a long moment, hands on hips. Yuuri gazes at him, and Viktor tries to convince himself he doesn’t imagine the glint in Yuuri’s eye.

Viktor has been naked in front of Yuuri more times than he can remember. So why is he nervous? With tremulous fingers, Viktor undoes and shrugs out of his jinbei top, then steps out of the bottoms, leaving them both in a pile at his bare feet. Yuuri doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Unlike all those times in the onsen, he’s looking in all the right places. 

“Mind if I sleep like this?” Viktor asks. He always slept naked before coming to the Katsukis. He only started wearing bottoms when he arrived in Japan, and then a top when he and Yuuri started sharing a bed.

“No,” Yuuri says, drawing back the blankets. He’s in jogging pants and the top Viktor wore yesterday. Viktor suspects he’s even put his socks back on, since he usually wears them to bed. 

Viktor glides between the sheets and cuddles close to Yuuri, then rests his head on Yuuri’s chest. He can hear the slow and steady rhythm of Yuuri’s heart thumping deep within. Yuuri places his hand on Viktor’s hair.

“You’re so warm here,” Yuuri says, sounding surprised. His voice rumbles through Viktor’s head. “And you hair’s really soft.”

Viktor puts a hand beneath his chin and rubs light circles into Yuuri’s ribs. 

“I’m sorry I called you ‘piggy’ when I first arrived,” Viktor says. He’s been meaning to say this for a while, but it was never the right time. Maybe now isn’t either, but he’s saying it anyway. It’s been long enough. “That was rude of me.”

“Oh.” Yuuri runs his fingers through Viktor’s hair. “It’s fine. I was chubby.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Viktor replies, reflecting on what he used to think and feel and loathing himself for his weakness. “Do you know why I even started with that?”

“I thought it was because I was fatter than at Sochi. Not that I even realized you’d seen so much of me there, at the time. But I definitely needed to lose weight if I wanted to compete.” 

“Well, I _had_ noticed the weight change, but I said what I did because I was jealous and hurt and stupid,” Viktor says ruefully.

“Jealous?”

“When I first arrived, I didn’t understand how Minako fit in your life. She knew so much about you and you seemed close. Closer than you were with your mother or sister, even. I thought she might be your girlfriend.”

“Minako?” Yuuri asks, his hands coming to a rest. “You know she’s older than my mother, right?”

“I’m really bad at estimating Japanese people’s ages,” Viktor mutters. “Besides, if you’re both adults, what’s it matter?”

“Uh, total lack of interest aside, she’s seen me in diapers, so that’s a bit awkward.”

“Hmm…I’ve seen pictures,” Viktor says playfully.

“That’s different.”

“Anyway, I called you names because it hurt me to think you’d seduced me and I came all the way here expecting to be your coach and your boyfriend and you had some ballerina girlfriend the whole time. Eventually I worked out you weren’t together but the name stuck with Yurio around and…I’m sorry. It was cruel. I don’t want you to hate your body, whether it’s chubby or thin, OK? I like it both ways.” Viktor tilts his head and gazes up at Yuuri. “As long as I’m coaching, we’ll work to keep it ready for competition, but if you don’t want that in the off-season, I don’t care. More Yuuri to cuddle.” Viktor snuggles deeper into Yuuri’s embrace.

“Uh, thanks,” Yuuri says. He begins running his hands through Viktor’s hair again. “Thanks for apologizing. And thanks for not caring if I get chubby.”

“You couldn’t be unattractive if you tried,” Viktor murmurs, closing his eyes. His sheets have started to smell like them both by now, and even though Yuuri’s wearing Viktor’s shirt, Viktor can still discern Yuuri’s calming and familiar scent. It’s strongest in the middle of his chest. The pulse of Yuuri’s heart is his lullaby. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Eyes on the Surprise' will remain PG-13, but I'm a published erotic romance author and was wondering how many people would be interested in a side story featuring that sort of thing? To flesh out relationship developments, so to speak. Let me know, and if you have any requests!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! Here’s the latest instalment, a layover until Barcelona (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟI’ve also posted an 18+ side-story to…er…flesh out their relationship development. It's called Gentleman in the Streets, Freak in the Sheets (^_~)

There’s an unopened suitcase in the back of Viktor’s closet in Hasetsu full of things even he thought might be inappropriate to wear in front of the Katsukis when he first arrived. Now they’ve all warmed to one another, Viktor thinks it’s time to dress down a little.

He starts with the crop top and booty shorts. The only one who says anything is Yuuri.

“Uh, Viktor?” Yuuri says when Viktor shuffles into the dining area in his fluffy pink slippers one morning. Mari, tired of pretending to ignore Viktor’s bare feet, had bought them for him. 

“Hm?” Viktor asks over the rim of his steaming coffee cup. The last time Yuuri looked at him this morning, Viktor had been naked. This was, as far as they were both concerned, a step up in Viktor’s wardrobe for the day.

“What’re you… Where did you…” Yuuri tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “That outfit. It’s, uh, something.”

“Something great, don’t you think?” Viktor spots a ball of fluff on the floor and swoops down to pick it up. He doesn’t bend his knees. “So comfy. Easier to move around in.” He stands again with a snap and flicks the fluff ball into a nearby dustbin.

It’s been a while since Yuuri’s had a nosebleed, but he gets one shortly before Mari walks into the room, starts dripping blood, and then turns on her heel and walks out without uttering a word, a hand cupped under her chin. Viktor decides the Katsukis must have a hereditary problem when Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki interrupt the family breakfast minus Mari to nurse their own nosebleeds. 

“Maybe don’t wear the shorts,” Yuuri says that evening. 

“But I love them,” Viktor whines, shimmying his hips. 

“I don’t think…” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair and gazes at the ceiling. “They look good on you, but maybe, like, too good?”

“No such thing!” Viktor exclaims, kicking off the offending shorts and then peeling off his crop top. He swears he leaves them on the bedroom floor, but he can’t find them in the morning. He’s forgetful on his best days, but he’s usually decent at keeping track of his clothes, at least. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says as he paces the room, naked and frustrated. “I can’t find the clothes I wore yesterday. Did you see where I put them?” 

“Hm?” Yuuri asks, rubbing his eyes. “No. I didn’t see what you did with them.”

In fact, Viktor seems to have misplaced his entire suitcase of sequins, glitter, faux fur, and feathers. And not the one containing his more risqué skating costumes, the _other_ one. Oh, well. He’s made it this long without its contents, he supposes he can go a little longer. He’ll find it eventually; these sorts of things have a way of turning up on their own. 

-

The ensuing weeks are a grind of long days and short nights as Viktor and Yuuri prepare for the Grand Prix Final. By the evening, Yuuri is aching and Viktor nurses his bruised and blistered feet for him. But not just his feet; they’ve graduated to full-body massages. Yuuri tells Viktor he could never have the mental fortitude to survive such a gruelling regime if Viktor were not by his side every spin and step of the way.

“Just having you here with me is motivating,” Yuuri murmurs into Viktor’s hair one evening. They’re embracing under the duvet, safe and sheltered in their nest of warmth and affection.

“I’m glad,” Viktor murmurs, pushing his forehead against the front of Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I just want to impress you so badly,” Yuuri continues. He kisses Viktor’s crown. “You can tell, can’t you?”

Viktor smiles, stifles a chuckle. “Yes.” Of course he can. “I know what that’s like.” He fingers the collar of Yuuri’s pyjama top.  

“You want to impress me?” Yuuri sounds genuinely surprised. “ _Me_?”

“So silly.” Viktor nuzzles Yuuri’s neck. They don’t say anything for several minutes, and Viktor feels the pulse in Yuuri’s neck steadily accelerate until Yuuri draws a deep breath.

“Are you still awake?” Yuuri whispers.

“Mhm,” Viktor replies.

“Good. That’s good.” Yuuri’s pulse, astoundingly, gets faster. Viktor waits. “So, um, I think you know how I feel about you,” Yuuri fumbles along.

“Mhm.” At least, Viktor thinks he does. He cuddles, naked, with Yuuri every night. They kiss sometimes. That means something, doesn’t it? Especially since Viktor has never seen Yuuri touch either of his parents or his sister.

“And since I think maybe you might feel the same way…” Yuuri trails off, and it takes Viktor a long moment to realise Yuuri expects some sort of response.

Viktor tilts his head and kisses Yuuri’s ear. “You don’t know the half of it,” Viktor whispers. He feels the shiver that courses through Yuuri’s body in response. “What do you want to ask me, Yuuri?” He will never put words in Yuuri’s mouth, but he will coax them out when they get stuck.

Yuuri is surprisingly direct when he asks. Viktor should have known the depth of courage Yuuri harbours beneath his thick blankets of anxiety and insecurity. But, much as the extra pounds melted from Yuuri’s body under Viktor’s training, so too have some of Yuuri’s inhibitions slowly faded to oblivion.

They kiss when they come to an agreement, and Viktor falls asleep with the taste of Yuuri’s toothpaste on his tongue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo if you want more details, feel free to read the 18+ follow-up posted as a separate story. I plan on posting a few more risqué chapters in that story to complement this one (─‿‿─)♡


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part with the rings.
> 
> Tbh the continuity of the ring scene always confused me a little, so I did my best to explain what might have happened, taking into consideration official statements from the creators ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Suffice it to say, Viktor quietly lost his mind.
> 
> I’m thinking of including another NC-17 side-story (prospective Chapter 4 in Gentleman in the Streets, Freak in the Sheets) that would take place midway through this chapter. Be on the lookout in a bit if that’s your jam! 
> 
> Peace and love to everyone in Barcelona ♡

  

> _what are your intentions with my son_

  

> _What are your intentions with my son?_

 

> _oh wow so I guess bigamy is legal now? yuuri and i need to talk. anyway you’re definitely hubby #2 there vikki enjoy the couch_

 

> _whatre ur intenoins wit my son russian bstrd_

  

> _*polishes shotgun* hello there mr nikiforov do you have time for a chat about your intentions with my son yuuri katsuki *smiles*_

 

> _WHAT are your intentions with my SON_

  

> _what are your intentions with our sweet and awkward lord and saviour katsuki yuuri?_

  

> _so like are we in a thrupple now or_

 

> _i love my angelic gay son don’t you dare hurt him_

 

> _he’s not gay he’s bi CLEARLY since I’m his wife_

 

> _just saying my husband has always had perfect choice in men so if you’re joining us Vitya I am not complaining_

 

> _WHAT ARE YOUR INTENTIONS WITH MY SON??!!?!?!?_

It’s one week to Barcelona and Yuuri’s fanbase has been spamming Viktor’s Instagram for several days. It isn’t the first time, but it’s definitely the most dramatic and explicit he’s ever seen. And it isn’t just one person or two or ten. It isn’t even hundreds. It’s thousands. 

“Your fans are…interesting,” Viktor says, gazing at Yuuri over the top of his phone. They’re lounging in their bed in the early morning before practice, Makkachin dozing between them.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asks, pushing his glasses up his nose and rolling over. Viktor loves when Yuuri pushes his glasses up his nose. He usually frowns a little when he does it, the tiniest of lines flashing for a second between his eyebrows.

“They all appear to think they’re either your spouse or your parent.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, smiling vaguely and rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. They’ve always been like that. I don’t really understand it, but it’s fine. Do you mean your fans aren’t like that?”

“Not en masse. Most of my fans just want to f—”

“Viktor!” Yuuri cries, mortified, covering Makkachin’s ears with his cupped hands. Makkachin stirs, snuffles, and goes back to sleep. “Not in front of Makkchan!”

Viktor swallows hard. Yuuri looks adorable, kneeling next to Makkachin, mock indignation playing over his features. He still hasn’t uncovered Makkachin’s ears.

“Makka doesn’t speak English,” Viktor reminds Yuuri, kissing him lightly on the cheek over Makkachin.

“We speak it enough around him that he must’ve picked some up,” Yuuri protests. “Besides, I don’t want him to know the bad words.”

“Oh, right.” Swearing in any language other than Russian never seems as earnest to Viktor. He smiles guiltily. “Sorry.” He pats Makkachin and winks at Yuuri. “Most of my fans are more intrigued by my erotic appeal than my…ah…homeliness, the way yours are.”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri demands, releasing Makkachin. He puts his hands on his hips.

“You know. Being like home. Safe and warm, to be protected and cared for.”

Yuuri smiles and looks away. “Wrong word,” he says, covering his mouth with a hand.

“What’s the right word?”

“Homeyness. Well, maybe homeliness works too, I’m not sure. But usually homely means unattractive.”

“Oh,” Viktor says. “No, that’s not what I meant at all.” He kisses Yuuri again, this time on the lips. “You’re very attractive.”  

Yuuri laughs into Viktor’s mouth. “Thanks. So are you. Should we get to the rink?”

Viktor groans. He was hoping he and Yuuri could spare at least another half hour of this quiet bliss together, but he knows practising is the only way Yuuri can deal with his anxiety so close to a competition.

“Sounds good,” Viktor says. “ _Ko miye_ , Makka.”

- 

> _so u and yuuri are the real deal hm_

It’s Chris. Yuuri’s showering after practice, so Viktor texts back immediately. 

_Don’t act so surprised_

> _i’m more surprised hes being so public about it_
> 
> _he was always so private before u_
> 
> _i never knew what 2 make of him_

_Public?_ Viktor had always thought he was the one to initiate public displays of affection. 

> _u haven’t checked his instagram today, have u?_

_um I did late last night_

The nightly checks are a hard to break post-Sochi habit.

> _check again sweetie xo_

Viktor opens Instagram, navigates to Yuuri’s profile, and stares at his phone.

There’s a picture of Yuuri reposted from Viktor’s Instagram from a few weeks back. He must have done so during a break this afternoon. Yuuri’s laughing, eyes closed, mouth open, hair dancing as he builds momentum for a triple axel. He’s beautiful and doesn’t look the least bit anxious. He looks relaxed. Viktor catches himself smiling before he even reads the caption.

_Hi everyone_ , the caption begins _. I really want to thank you all so much for your kind words of support since the Cup of China. It means the world to me there are so many people out there who want to see me succeed and be happy on and off the ice. I’m doing my best!! But I also need to ask that some of you please don’t bug Viktor so much. I know you mean well but Viktor’s never seen supporters quite like you all (not a bad thing!) and the spamming can be a little scary. Rest assured his intentions are honorable and I’ve never been happier than when I’m skating with him. We’ll see you in Barcelona!!!_ _(_ _＠＾_ _◡_ _＾_ _)_

Viktor revisits the picture or Yuuri. He does indeed look happy. Euphoric, even. Since the shower is no longer running, Viktor puts down his phone and goes to the bathroom door. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor knocks on the door. 

“Yeah?” Yuuri asks. His voice wavers. 

“May I come in?”

There’s a pause, then a scraping sound as Yuuri unlocks the door. Why did he lock it? “Yeah.”

Viktor opens the door slowly, almost bumping it against Yuuri, who’s sitting cross-legged in his pyjamas in the middle of the freshly squeegeed bathroom floor. He’s crying.

“Um,” Viktor says as he squishes through the door, trying to keep it from nudging Yuuri. This was not what Viktor had expected. He closes the door and stands awkwardly, arms at his sides, gazing down at Yuuri. “What’s wrong?”

Yuuri wipes his cheek and stares at the floor. “I’m just scared.”

“You’ll be fine,” Viktor murmurs, coming to kneel in front of Yuuri. He drapes his arms around Yuuri and draws him close. Yuuri heaves a shuddering sigh into Viktor's shoulder. “I know you’ll do well. You’ve worked harder than anyone I know.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath. “I’m not talking about the Grand Prix.”

Viktor frowns, chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Then what are you afraid of?”

“You,” Yuuri whispers.

Viktor stiffens and releases Yuuri, sitting back on his heels. What did he do wrong?

“Um. Sorry. What?”

Yuuri bows his head and presses his palms to his eyes. 

“I’ve never wanted to impress someone as much as I want to impress you,” Yuuri mumbles. “So that’s terrifying. But I’m also scared because I’ve never felt for someone what I feel for you. Like I _need_ you. More than anything. Like I can’t breathe right when you aren’t around. Like if you ever left—”

“I’d never leave,” Viktor interrupts. “Not you. Never.”

“You say that, but don’t you think someday all the anxiety and depression and insecurities and jealousy will start to bother you?”

“It hasn’t yet.”

“But what if it does?” Yuuri makes eye contact. “What would you do?”

“Yuuri—”

Yuuri slides his hands back over his face. “This doesn’t ever stop, you know that, right? Anxiety. Depression. They’re lifelong conditions.”

“I know.”

“So I don’t think it’s fair of me to make you live with them too.”

Viktor scratches his head, confused. “You can’t help it if you’re anxious or depressed.” It’s not as though Viktor doesn’t know what it’s like to be depressed. Wasn’t he lacking motivation and direction, feeling as though he had no purpose, bored with everything, the night Yuuri literally waltzed into his life?

“No, but it’s not fair of me to—”

“Just because you’re sick sometimes doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have people around you that you want there, people who want to be there.” Viktor knows what it’s like to feel worthless and empty and undeserving. He would give anything for Yuuri never to feel that way again, but he knows he will. So the least Viktor can do is be here to contradict the negative voices in Yuuri’s head when they start talking. “I want to be there,” Viktor continues. “There’s no place I’d rather be than here right now. With you, on a bathroom floor in a small town in Japan. I chose to be here. I _choose_ to be here.”

Yuuri sniffles, leans back, and catches Viktor’s eye. “Thanks,” he murmurs. 

“I’m still not really good with people crying,” Viktor says softly. He brushes Yuuri’s knee. “But I think I’m getting better. How’d I do?”

“Perfect,” Yuuri says. “Except for one thing.”

Viktor’s heart falls. What did he miss? “What? What should I do?” 

“You should kiss me,” Yuuri whispers. So Viktor does.

-

Viktor tells Yuuri he loves him that night. Again. “ _Ya lyublyu tebya vsem serdtsem_ ,” he whispers to him, knowing Yuuri will not understand the words. But the sentiment, Viktor is certain Yuuri grasps. How could he not?

-

Life and love. Viktor never knew much of either before Yuuri. Viktor spent the last two decades of his life devoted to skating, unable to maintain any fulfilling relationships outside his close family, and even those could be strained. He is a master of his craft, he knows, and a money-making machine to boot, but it all became meaningless past a certain point. The sweet taste of victory turned sour and Viktor lived in a depressive fog for several years before, bored with himself and every aspect of his life, Yuuri appeared and saved Viktor from himself.

Yuuri is more than a ray of hope. He’s Viktor’s dearest friend and greatest inspiration. And, of course, Viktor is madly in love with him. Viktor thinks of Yuuri as a Fabergé egg: fragile and beautiful to behold of its own right, but with unimaginable intricacies guarded deep within. To be cherished. There is no key to Yuuri, just as a Fabergé egg has no key but can only be opened with careful handling.

Floating in a rooftop pool in Barcelona, lost in his meditations, Viktor doesn’t notice Chris until he announces his presence. 

“I took it that the Russian would be the only one stupid enough besides me to get in the pool at this time of year. I guess I was right.” Chris. In a bathrobe that’s far too short, with a bottle of champagne and a flute clanking at his side.

“Chris!” It’s nice to see a familiar face. Viktor hasn’t seen one since he left Yuuri sleeping in their hotel room.

“Here I was hoping I would get to go skinny-dipping,” Chris says, hip jutting provocatively.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Viktor says, up to his neck in the water, breaths coming in clouds of white crystals. The air is especially chilly now that he’s wet, so he’s warmest underwater. The tips of his ears are pinched with cold. “I’ll even take pictures if you want.”

After snapping nearly one hundred pictures of and with Chris, Viktor’s fingertips are numb and his nose is running.

“Why don’t you come back to our room?” Viktor offers as he wraps himself in a fluffy white towel.

“Oh, so it’s _our_ room, is it?” Chris asks slyly.

“It has been for months,” Viktor replies breezily.

Viktor’s shivering with cold by the time they make it back to his and Yuuri’s hotel room.

“Yuuri, I’m freezing,” Viktor calls when he throws open the door. “Will you draw me a hot bath? I can’t feel my toes!” He knows something’s amiss when he has to turn on the light. Yuuri, in bed where Viktor left him hours ago, stirs and sits up, blinking.

“And while you’re at it, how about some coffee?” Chris says, a little buzzed from his drink. Yuuri stares blankly at them both, not even the hint of a smile on his lips.

“You were still sleeping?” Viktor asks, trying to keep the worry from his voice in front of Chris. He regrets inviting him.

Yuuri’s anxiety is getting the better of him again. Viktor can tell by the way Yuuri slept so much, even accounting for jetlag, and by the way his manicure, fresh before their departure, is chipped. He’s been biting.

With Chris around, there’s only so much Viktor can do, so rather than comfort Yuuri with words, he tries to comfort him with his body. Viktor leaps toward Yuuri’s bed, flinging off his towel mid-air. To his surprise, Chris follows suit, flashing Yuuri as he leaps onto the mattress. Viktor clings to Yuuri, who, aside from being the love of his life, is also scrumptiously warm after his long nap under a duvet. Viktor slips his frigid hands under Yuuri’s jumper, toes curling as the heat from Yuuri’s chest radiates through him.

“Ah, Yuuri,” Viktor groans, ear to Yuuri’s stomach. “You feel so good.”

“Get a room, you two,” Chris says, a hand snaking under Yuuri’s jumper to his back. Yuuri, looking scandalized, tries to squirm away from them both.

“We _had_ a room to ourselves,” Viktor says, giving Yuuri a little squeeze.

“You’re like human icicles,” Yuuri yells, thrashing. “Get off of me!” Chris backs off, pouting. “Both of you!” Viktor reluctantly untangles himself from Yuuri. It must be because Chris is here; Yuuri still doesn’t like his displays of affection to be witnessed. It’s cute, how he tries to keep these parts of their relationship private. A secret, just between them. Viktor used to think it might be shame, but now he knows better. Yuuri wants Viktor for himself, and this reticence in front of others, for lack of a better word, is part of that.

-

Barcelona may just replace Paris as Viktor’s favourite European city. The memories here are simply richer, more honeyed. Layered.

Viktor can only stare, open-mouthed, heart beating out of his breast, static in his ears, as Yuuri browses the jewellery in a chic little jewellery shop and ultimately settles on matching gold bands which, when stacked, complete a small snowflake in their interiors. Yuuri places one of the rings in Viktor’s pocket and leads him wordlessly by the hand to Barcelona Cathedral, only a few blocks away. Viktor’s coat, which is too large for Yuuri’s frame but looks perfect on him, dances like the bass line to the symphony of Yuuri’s movements as he swirls through the streets of Barcelona a step ahead of Viktor.

The cathedral is different in the evening, aglow with candles, resonant with songs of a festive choir on the front steps. It’s even more magical than when they visited in the afternoon. Was Yuuri planning this (whatever _this_ is) even then?

“You know why I got them, don’t you?” Yuuri whispers. He’s blushing the sweetest shade of scarlet.

Viktor can only nod. He’s forgotten English again.

“Viktor,” Yuuri murmurs, trancelike, “may I see your right hand?”

Viktor, scarcely believing any of this is real, extends his hand. Yuuri slips off Viktor’s glove for him, his touch reverent.

Is this actually happening? Viktor feels like his brain is short circuiting.

Yuuri introduces the ring to the fourth finger on Viktor’s right hand. (His right. He specifically asked for Viktor’s right.) Yuuri and his research. Maybe the timing, the flight through the Christmas markets and winding up at Barcelona Cathedral weren’t planned before today, but it’s clear Yuuri has been thinking about _this_ for some time. Because at some point, he researched Russian nuptial traditions, and learnt wedding bands in Russia are worn on the fourth finger of the right hand and not the left, as they are in Japan.

“Thank you, Viktor,” Yuuri says, as though from a great distance. “For everything you’ve done. I wanted to get you something and this was the best thing I could think of.” Oh, it’s the very best. Better than anything Viktor felt he ever had a right to desire. “Anyway…” Yuuri, who still hasn’t released Viktor’s hand, trembles. Viktor can’t stop staring at the ring on his hand. Does this mean…? But Yuuri said it was a thank you gift? A good luck charm? Then why put it on Viktor’s right hand, on this particular finger…? “I’ll do my very best from tomorrow on.” _On_. Two letters holding so much promise. “So, uh, t-tell me something?”

It takes Viktor a moment to realize Yuuri wants something from him. He jolts out of his reverie and gazes at Yuuri’s face, at his glistening eyes (are those tears?) and flushed cheeks. The tip of his nose is pink in the cool Barcelona night.

“OK,” Viktor says softly, taking Yuuri’s right hand. “I’ll tell you something that you won’t even have to think about. Tomorrow, skate in a way that’s true to yourself.” He slides the ring from his pocket onto Yuuri’s right fourth finger, just so there are no questions. It’s mutual. “Show me a programme that makes you proud.” Yuuri emits a tremulous sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob. He gazes up at Viktor with such a hopeful, tender expression of gratitude and love that Viktor could weep. A moment later, he feels the faint warm sting of tears in his eyes. “There’s only one way to a gold medal that I know,” Viktor continues, “and that’s it.”

Viktor’s the one who has to put a label on it, for his own peace of mind, so he knows with certainty he and Yuuri are on the same page. Engagement rings. That’s what they are.  

They’ll get married when Yuuri wins gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Ko miye (Russian) – come (lit. “to me”)  
> Ya lyublyu tebya vsem serdtsem (Russian) – I love you with all my heart


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovers’ quarrel + ALL of the angst, because that’s what we signed up for, isn’t it? Don’t worry, everything will be sorted. Eventually. 
> 
> I’m all about that delayed gratification yo [ ± _ ± ]
> 
> Spoiler alert: they're both idiots but I love them

Viktor always wore gloves at the rink. They kept his fingers warm and nails growing strong, and besides, a good pair of leather gloves can really complete a look. But he doesn’t think anything of leaving his favourite pair at the hotel now that Yuuri’s given him a ring to show off. Viktor loves that everyone in the arena has noticed how they kiss one another’s rings before Yuuri goes on to perform.

A good luck charm. A promise. A proposal. Viktor wants everyone in the world to see their matching rings.

Yuuri’s Eros performance at the Grand Prix is breathtaking. Heart bounding, veins thrumming with excitement, Viktor loses himself in the seductive swirls of Yuuri’s hips under his fluttering half-skirt, the way the muscles of Yuuri's back bunch and slide with the elegant undulations of his arms, how Yuuri's fingers splay and clasp air and seem to graze Viktor from across the arena. Viktor’s scalp tingles when he sees Yuuri begin his triple flip, and Viktor, wholly committed, leaps with Yuuri and completes the spin for him from his place behind the boards.

When Yuuri finishes and, looking utterly spent, collapses to the ice, Viktor’s heart stops. Is Yuuri injured? Viktor strains against the boards, knuckles white, fighting the urge to leap onto the ice and join Yuuri. Viktor can’t hear anything over the roar of the audience, but he can tell by the way Yuuri’s body heaves, just once, that he’s let out either a sigh or a sob.

In the kiss and cry, Yuuri wears an expression Viktor has not seen until now. Yuuri looks…competitive. Like he wants to win. At all costs.

-

Yurio’s performance is awe-inspiring. As a choreographer, Viktor could not be prouder. As a figure-skater, he feels threatened. By the half-way mark, Viktor knows he is witnessing history being made. As though in a trance, he drifts from Yuuri’s side and stands stock-still at the rinkside, lost in the maturity, the grace, the athleticism, the sheer _tenacity_ of Yurio’s performance. Yurio has outskated Yuuri today, and Viktor knows it. So do the judges, who award Yurio a record-breaking 118.56. Viktor had set the previous record.

Yuuri draws Viktor from the depth of his racing thoughts and leads him to the seats near some other skaters, including Sara, Mickey, and Emil. Soon, Viktor is lost in Chris’s performance as well. And then Otabek’s. Everyone is exceeding Viktor’s expectations. Yuuri has been Viktor’s greatest inspiration for the past year, but Viktor is only now beginning to see just how much the next generation of skaters have blossomed during his hiatus. Even new, unexpected friendships have developed in Viktor’s absence, if Yurio’s uncharacteristically supportive “ _Davai_!” to Otabek before his performance is any indication of things.

And then, much as he was elated to learn during Yuuri’s performance, Viktor realises he is once again excited. Well and truly _excited_. He even chews the inside of his mouth with worry when J.J. chokes mid-performance and receives his lowest score all season.

With Yuuri by his side all the way back to the hotel, Viktor’s thoughts remain a flurry of activity and exhilaration. He is engaged to the love of his life, his protégés are flourishing, and his oldest love, competitive skating, enthrals him once more. Viktor couldn’t be happier.

Until he isn’t. Until he is the most miserable he has ever been in his life. More miserable than when skating first lost its appeal.

Yuuri says he wants to talk when they get back to their hotel room. Viktor, feeling even more amorous than usual and thinking he knows where this is going, declares his need for a shower first. Yuuri smiles and nods, and Viktor takes his time beneath the jet of water hot enough to turn his skin bright pink. He meditates upon his love for Yuuri, and speculates about how Yuuri must feel about him in return.

Yuuri has never even said he loves Viktor. Viktor has never said it to Yuuri while he’s awake or in a language he speaks when he is. But perhaps, much as how Viktor spent months doing ordinary little things to demonstrate his adoration in a way he knows Yuuri finds comfortable, Yuuri settled upon the grand gesture with the rings, exactly as he knew Viktor would understand and appreciate.

When he thinks of Yuuri, Viktor is love-struck. He does not believe he will ever, ever get over how Yuuri proposed to him. Seemingly spontaneously, but well-researched. Calculated. Yuuri had known exactly what would surprise Viktor and secure his complete devotion for life, and then he’d had the courage to do it. It’s like landing a quadruple flip at the end of an exhausting and technically complicated figure skating piece. Astonishing. Beautiful. Impulsive.

Perfect.

Viktor pads out of the bathroom half an hour later in a fluffy white dressing gown and matching slippers, towelling his hair. Yuuri is sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

“That’s interesting. Looks like Minako’s at a bar with Celestino,” Yuuri murmurs.

“Wow. We better stay away from that place,” Viktor says, laughing at the thought (not that Yuuri has plans of going out tonight, Viktor can tell). He finishes towelling his hair. “Well anyway, what’s up? You said you wanted to talk?” Viktor leans forward, casting his best set of bedroom eyes in Yuuri’s direction. “So…?”

Yuuri suddenly looks tense. That was unexpected. “Right.” Yuuri curls his hands into fists against his knees and takes a deep breath. A second too late, Viktor gets smacked by a wave of apprehension. Something bad is about to happen. And it does. “After the final,” Yuuri continues, “let’s end this.”

Yuuri says something else after that, but Viktor doesn’t hear any of it. His eyes burn, his chest aches, his arms and legs are numb and he feels like he’ll never walk, let alone skate, ever again. Then Yuuri bows, and his fuzzy voice carries through the fog in Viktor’s brain. “Thank you for being my coach.”

Viktor cannot say anything. He cannot move. He cannot even close his astonished mouth.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, sounding frightened. Only Yuuri could destroy a man and then act timid about it.

“Dammit,” Viktor murmurs, quietly emerging from his silent terror. His voice is frayed by his tears. “That’s disappointing.” For one prone to theatrics and exaggerations, Viktor marvels distantly at his ability to understate his emotions just now. “I didn’t expect this from you of all people.” He should stop talking, but now that he’s started, he can’t. It hurts. “Something so selfish.” Oh, it hurts.

“Selfish or not, it’s my decision,” Yuuri says soberly. _No, stop_ , Viktor thinks. _We should both shut up. Don’t say any more_. “I’m retiring.”

Viktor does his best to turn a sob into a sigh. He still hasn’t moved, though a deluge of tears track down his cheeks. He can’t even turn his face from Yuuri, much as he wants to. Viktor hides as best he can behind his fringe.

Yuuri leans forward and gently nudges Viktor’s fringe out of the way, as though he is curious about the effect his words have had on Viktor. Is there any mystery? Yuuri _knows_ how Viktor feels about him. He must! How could he not?

Viktor once said Yuuri’s request for Viktor to coach him until retirement was like a marriage proposal. Viktor had never dreamed their marriage would be so short.

“Yes, Yuuri?” Viktor asks. “What are you looking at?” Cruel man. Yuuri’s looking at Viktor as though he’s a rare painting. _The Lachrymose Legend_ , Viktor thinks bitterly, sarcastically. _The Foregone Fiancé_. _The Wretched Russian_.

“I’m just surprised to see you cry,” Yuuri replies.

Idiot.

Before he can stop himself, Viktor knocks Yuuri’s hand away. It’s the only time he’s ever been rough with Yuuri when Yuuri hasn’t asked him for it. It kills Viktor to push Yuuri away, but he can’t bear the touch of the man who has broken his heart. It burns like hellfire. “I’m mad, OK?” Viktor’s voice, barely a whisper before now, rises quickly. “What _should_ I do?”

“You’re the one who said it was only until the Grand Prix Final,” Yuuri says, defensive.

“I thought you would eventually decide you wanted my help for longer than that,” Viktor chokes out past the lump in his throat. _I told you_ , Viktor thinks. _I told you I hoped you'd never retire_.

Yuuri isn’t the idiot, Viktor is.

“It’s OK,” Yuuri says softly, as though soothing an agitated animal. “You don’t need to worry about me. This way you can make your comeba—”

“Stop, I don’t want to hear it!” Viktor yells, standing, tears still pouring down his face. He puts a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. Rough, again. Viktor hates himself when Yuuri looks up at him, shocked. “How can you tell me to return to the ice when you’re retiring?” Yes, the others are inspiring, but Yuuri and the love they share will always be Viktor’s catalyst and most enduring muse. He can be perfectly happy with Yuuri’s professional successes and seeking no more of his own. Viktor can be happy with them for their own right, as well as all the vicarious joy they bring him.  

Right?

-

They find a private rink to skate together. It costs a small fortune to have it to themselves, but Viktor doesn’t care. They don’t talk about their argument, instead throwing themselves into practice outside the public view. They will take their decisions later, when they have time to think. Viktor is merciless. Yuuri is in fourth, and Viktor promised him gold. To be fair, Yuuri promised Viktor gold too. They both want to keep their words.

It’s gruelling. It’s passionate. When Yuuri needs a break from his free skate because his anxiety is driving his cuticles bloody, they practise something different, something light that brings them closer in body, even though they’re miles apart in mind. Viktor can’t resent Yuuri when they skate side-by-side, spinning one another, holding one another, supporting one another, lifting one another, in a beautiful adaptation of the routine that brought Viktor gold and then to Japan. They can’t decide if they’ll kiss. Viktor doesn’t want to. Yuuri does.  

Long hours and a broken heart mean Viktor has lost his usual bubble of energy. People notice. They comment. Viktor laughs it off like he learnt to years ago and Yuuri won’t look at anyone.

They don’t push their hotel room beds apart, but they don’t sleep entwined anymore. Viktor cries in the shower so Yuuri won’t see him do it. He doesn’t want Yuuri feeling worse than he is already. The physical and emotional distance is worse than the discordance they had when Viktor first arrived in Japan. Now, Viktor knows exactly what he’s missing. He’s stopped going to bed naked and pulls on jogging bottoms and one of Yuuri’s jumpers before he crawls under the blankets and tries to sleep. He pinches the collar of the jumper around his nose and when he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, it’s almost as though he’s got his face buried in Yuuri’s hair.   

Almost.

But not quite.

“Viktor,” Yuuri murmurs from the far side of the other bed, the night before his free skate performance. “Are you still awake?”

“Mmph,” Viktor intones noncommittally from behind Yuuri’s jumper.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. He sounds like he means it. It’s the first time he’s said it since the argument.

Viktor hunches his shoulders, his back to Yuuri. “Didn’t we agree we’d talk about this after?”

“Yes. I don’t want to talk about it now. But I want you to know I’m sorry for how I’m making you feel.” There’s a slithering sound, the mattress shifts, and then Yuuri touches Viktor shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Yuuri kisses Viktor’s nape and slides an arm around Viktor’s chest. He presses his palm against Viktor’s aching heart. He flexes his fingers into the wool of the jumper. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.” He kisses Viktor again, and it’s the sweetest, most painful thing Viktor has ever felt. A rose with thorns.

“It’s OK.”

“It isn’t.”

“Well, don’t worry about it.”

“I worry about everything.” Yuuri nestles his forehead between Viktor’s shoulder blades and nudges his toes between Viktor’s heels. “Most of all you. I feel like I’ve broken you.”

Viktor can’t say anything, because he agrees. Yuuri broke him. Viktor tastes salt and knows he’s crying again.

Now would be a good time for Yuuri to tell Viktor he loves him. But he doesn’t. Yuuri doesn’t say anything more, he just holds Viktor until his tears and sniffling stop and they eventually fall asleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Davai (Russian) – let’s do it, come on, etc. [figurative, versatile]


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Viktor Nikiforov is gay? Viktor finds out how much his Japanese has improved since he first moved in with the Katsukis.
> 
> I added an unrealistic amount of time between the short programme and the free skate for ~plot~.
> 
> The twist goes the other way in this rendition.
> 
> P.S. You can’t tell me Yuuri isn’t the biggest damn Russophile to hit the figure skating world since Johnny Weir.

If Yuuri doesn’t win tomorrow and then retires, he’ll never have another chance to win gold.

They’ll never marry.

Well, they could marry anyway, but the thought Yuuri has already declared his intentions, without knowing the outcome, smarts. Although it doesn’t smart as much as the idea he has chosen to end the happiest chapter of Viktor’s life instead of allowing their coach-protégé relationship to continue.

Georgi called it. He called it a long time ago.

“You’ve never had your heart broken, have you?” Georgi had asked privately after Viktor announced his intentions to move to Japan.

Viktor, idiot that he was, had not understood. “What makes you say that?” He was overflowing with excitement, abuzz with energy and hopes and dreams.

Georgi had shaken his head. “Someday, you’ll know.”

Someday was now. Viktor had been careless with his heart, and now he was paying for it.

-

“Did you see last night’s broadcast?” It’s Chris. His call woke Viktor from his deep slumber sometime earlier than Viktor likes to wake these days. He would sleep all the time now, if he could.  

“Hmm?” Viktor almost drops his phone as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. He rolls over and sees Yuuri is no longer in bed. The bathroom door is open, so he must have left already. He’s done that a few times now. Viktor feels empty. “No.” His voice is hollow.

“There was a lot of speculation about you and why your bubble has burst.”

“Oh.”

“Did someone die?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Every interview Yuuri gave in the past week, you’re sulking in the background like a grey-haired Keanu.”

That rankles. “It’s silver.”

“Do you need to talk?”

“No.” Viktor sighs and absently wipes a tear from his cheek.

“Ugh,” Chris huffs into the phone. “Why are you so Russian?”

Viktor wants to talk, but not with Chris. Not about this. The phone line blips with an incoming call. “I have to go. Someone’s calling.”

“Probably Hitchcock. He wants his pout back.”

Viktor’s life currently feels like a horror film. He hangs up without saying goodbye, because he genuinely forgets, then answers the incoming call. He is greeted by a gravelly, no-nonsense machine gun firing of syllables.

“Vitya.”

“Yakov?”

“How are you?”

“I’m lying on my hotel bed crying because Yuuri and I had an argument—well, maybe several arguments—because he wants to retire and it’s breaking my heart, because nothing in my life has ever brought me as much joy as sharing the ice with him and rekindling my love of skating. So now I’m more depressed than when—”

“Viktor,” Yakov interrupts, and Viktor knows it’s serious, because he’s no longer _Vitya_. “What have I always told you?”

“My emotions are too big and I need to learn to rein them in.”

There’s a grinding sound from the phone: Yakov’s teeth. “Not that, the other thing.”

“Tuck my elbows in tighter.”

“ _The other_.”

“I should know my routine backward and forward. See it from all angles. Know how I’ll look from every seat in the arena.”

“Yes, that.”

“But—” Oh. Of course.

“I’m worried about you. I’m worried this is as bad as when—”

Yuuri’s the routine. “You know what? You’re right. I haven’t made use of all my resources. I haven’t sat in the VIP seats yet.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Thanks, Yakov. I have to go.”

“Wait, Viktor, we’re not done y—”

-

_Mari_ , Viktor texts, ignoring Yakov’s call back. _I need your help. It’s urgent._

He’s never asked the Katsuki family how to deal with Yuuri. But then, he’s never really been at odds with Yuuri before now.

> _What’d u do_ , Mari replies. _I’ve never seen yuuri so miserable but he wont talk_

_Can we talk? On the phone._

Viktor doesn’t think he could look her in the eye if they met in person, even though she flew all the way to Barcelona to support her brother and she’s staying two floors down.

_Please_

> _K but u call me cuz itll cost a fortune_

-

“Yeah, but he still loves you, right?” Mari says once Viktor has explained the situation. He can hear her chain-smoking all the way from the balcony of the hotel room she shares with Minako.

“Has he _ever_?” Viktor demands, at the end of his rope. He had started crying when he first dialled her up and he hasn’t stopped the entire length of this rather one-sided conversation. The idea of losing Yuuri—after all this, losing him!—is too much. But did he ever have him? “He’s never said he does.”

“Idiot,” Mari mutters.

Viktor’s been called that more times than he can remember, but it’s unexpected coming from Mari. “Excuse me?”

“Yuuri’s Japanese,” Mari stresses, like Viktor doesn’t know that already.

“I _know_.”

“We don’t say ‘I love you’ in Japan. It just isn’t done. Well, maybe if you were on your deathbed or something—”

“I am!” Viktor cries. He can’t remember if this was covered in that book on Japanese culture he read on the plane to Fukuoka for the first time. “I am! This is _killing_ me!”

“Drama queen.” Mari exhales slowly and Viktor thinks he can smell smoke. “You want to know how he came out to me?”

This seems a little off topic, but Viktor assumes Mari wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t somehow relevant. Besides, Viktor wants to know. He wants to know everything about Yuuri.

“No. He never said how he told anyone, or if he even did.”

“Like he needed to, with you kissing him on international television,” Mari says under her breath. “I knew before then, even if a lot of people didn’t. He called me up from America one night crying his eyes out. Kind of like you right now, actually. I think he was twenty at the time.”

Viktor doesn’t bother to protest.

“So he cries for an hour or two, and I’m coaching him on how to breathe and asking how his classes are going and updating him on Vicchan and all his old friends and all that, and then out of nowhere he just says, ‘You know I like Viktor Nikiforov, right?’”

Viktor feels like he’s just been kicked in the chest. He draws a tremulous breath.

“And I say, ‘Sure, you’ve been obsessed with him since you first saw him skate.’ And he says, ‘No, you know I _like_ him, right?’ So, being the moron that I am, I say, ‘Yeah, you named our dog after him. He’s your biggest idol.’ So then he says, ‘You’re not _listening_ to me. I’m in love with Viktor Nikiforov.’ Kind of yelled it, actually. You know how he gets when he’s crying. Then he asked me not to tell Mom and Dad.”

If possible, Viktor cries harder. He cries because he loves Yuuri, and the idea the love of his life spent so many years loving him before Viktor even knew Yuuri existed breaks his already ruined heart. He cries because Yuuri was afraid to let his parents know something so important about him.

He cries because he ever doubted Yuuri loved him.

“And when you showed up in Hasetsu, I thought it was probably a bad thing. You’re not supposed to meet your idol, you know? He was totally star-struck at first, and then it turned out you were pretty weird and definitely human, and he still thought you were the best thing in the world.” She sounds like she can’t believe what she’s saying. “Turns out Mom and Dad always knew about Yuuri without him saying anything. They asked me how long you two’d been dating the night you showed up, can you imagine? I’ve always wondered,” Mari pauses to take a drag, “could you understand what he said after the Japan Figure Skating Championships? During the press conference we watched on TV?”

“No,” Viktor admits. “I’d only been in Japan a few months at that time. And Yuuri talks fast when he’s nervous.”

“How’s your Japanese now?”

“A lot better.” Viktor downloaded Rosetta Stone and hired a private tutor his second week in Japan. He joined a Japanese language discussion group for foreigners and started practising with Mrs. Katsuki within the second month. He switched his phone and laptop to Japanese in the fifth month. He began timidly inserting Japanese into his conversations with Yuuri recently. Viktor understands more than he can speak, but it’s been an uphill battle encouraging Yuuri to speak his language around Viktor; Mari, whose English is poorer, is more willing. 

“It’s on YouTube, you know. Go watch it. See how well your Japanese has come along.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” Viktor whines, wiping his eyes.

“No,” Mari says flatly. “I think you should hear it from him.”

-

After he’s thanked Mari so many times she just hangs up on him, Viktor goes onto his phone’s web browser and looks up the video she mentioned. He scrolls through the comments as he’s waiting for it to buffer.

> _So cute!_ , says one.
> 
> _Wow, power couple much_ , says another.
> 
> _OMG im so jelly Nikiforovs a lucky man_ , says yet another.
> 
> _Russia’s greatest love machine claims yet another victim_
> 
> _Does Viktor Nikiforov is gay?_
> 
> _i want them to adopt me!!1!111!!!!_
> 
> _F that let me be their surrogate. Impregnate me, Ice Daddies_

Viktor watches the clip three times before he’s sure he’s got it all.

Yuuri said he loved Viktor. On live national television. Months ago. Viktor watched it happen. Viktor never acknowledged the declaration, because he had not understood at the time and, fool that he was, never re-watched the footage until now. Never asked Yuuri about it. Had Yuuri guessed Viktor couldn’t understand? Viktor grabs his phone and texts Yuuri.

_Hey_ , he types. _We need to talk_.

Wait, that never sounds good. Viktor wishes he could claw back his words from cyberspace.

_What I mean is_ , he begins again. But what does he mean?

_I think I misunderstood what you meant earlier_

Yuuri doesn’t respond for an hour, and Viktor loses patience. He tries again.

_Please I need to hear your voice right now and we need to talk about things_. His heart is in his throat, his palms are sweaty, and it…hurts. Somewhere. Everywhere. Is this what Yuuri feels when he’s anxious? _I love you and the thought of losing you makes me feel like I’m dying_

There’s still no reply, and Viktor can’t stop rambling.

_I’m the dumbest person in history_

_Yuuri I’m so sorry_

_Please lets just talk_

_I Think we both need t hat_

_Plese_

_Ca”” me_

Viktor drops his phone, lies on the bed, and buries his face in a pillow. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so unhappy. Not even when he first arrived in Hasetsu and Yuuri seemed so cold. He cries so hard he shakes. It’s a full body cry, curled toes, clenched fists, throbbing heart.

It hurts.

Fifteen minutes later, he hasn’t moved. And then his phone pings a few times in quick succession. Viktor sits up and grabs it from where he cast it on the bedspread. 

> _sorry_ , Viktor reads. It’s from Yuuri.
> 
> _i panicked when i saw ur first text so i didnt look at my phone for a bit_
> 
> _ill be there as soon as i can_
> 
> _im on myway now_
> 
> _sorry_

Viktor barely has a moment to wipe his nose before Yuuri barges into the room. He must have been in the lobby downstairs all this time. He freezes at the threshold and the heavy door swings shut behind him with a squeal and a thump. Viktor knows he must look a mess. He feels like he’s aged two decades since he heard Yuuri utter those evil words: “Let’s end this”.

“Vitenka,” Yuuri whispers. He’s wide-eyed and pale. “What’s wrong?”

And Viktor dissolves into tears again right in front of Yuuri. It’s not like the first time he cried for Yuuri, when his eyes leaked a few glistening droplets and his nose didn’t even run. This is a mess. He hides his face in his hands, puts his elbows on his knees, and sobs, tears trickling down his wrists and into his sweater.

“What did I do?” Yuuri asks. He sounds desperate.

“You loved me,” Viktor moans between sobs. “You loved me and you told everyone else from the start and I didn’t even know. Why didn’t you tell me?” Viktor looks up.

Yuuri still hasn’t moved from his position by the door. He looks like a deer caught in the crosshairs. Innocent. Frightened. About to turn tail and flee.

Everyone always leaves Viktor sooner or later. He’s too much. Too successful, too demanding, too strange. Too clingy. He knows Yuuri is about to walk out the door and never return. Viktor knows it, the way he knows the sky is blue.

Yuuri shrugs out of his backpack, steps out of his shoes, and crosses the room, then sits next to Viktor. Yuuri puts an arm around Viktor’s shoulders and draws him to his chest. Viktor curls in a ball and clings to Yuuri’s shirtfront.

Yuuri is always surprising Viktor.

“You know I still do, right?” Yuuri whispers into Viktor’s hair.

Viktor draws a slow breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud when you were awake, but I love you,” Viktor says, his voice cracking. “I should’ve said it sooner. I’ve tried to show you, every day, just how much I love you, but to say it, to admit it to you…I’ve wanted to for a long time, but I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri murmurs. He kisses Viktor’s temple, and it reminds Viktor of their first kiss up in the clouds over China. “This is as good a time as any.” He sighs. “And I heard you the first time. And the second. And the third.”

Viktor wipes his nose. He ought to have assumed as much. “You’ve always been so sneaky. I can never tell when you’re sleeping.” He thinks harder. “Wait a minute. The other times, I said it in Russian.” He starts, sits up, and stares at Yuuri. “You speak Russian?”

Yuuri rubs the back of his neck, looking bashful. “A little. Well, more than a little. I’m a level B2. I did a minor in Russian in college.”

Viktor decides they will need to talk about this at great length. Possibly in Russian. Viktor’s heart sings.

“I’ve always been so _terrified_ , Vitenka, not sneaky,” Yuuri continues. “There’s a difference. And…” He bows his head. “I’ve never minded taking you from the world. I’ve wanted to for a long time. But thinking I was taking you away from what you loved, taking you from _your_ world…” Yuuri trails off, trembling. “It made me hate myself.”

They’ll talk about Yuuri’s Russian capabilities later.

“Shh,” Viktor murmurs, a finger to Yuuri’s lips. He is drunk on emotional exhaustion and love. “I’m coaching you because I love it. You haven’t taken me away from what I love, you’ve allowed me to share it with someone I love. That’s better than experiencing it on my own, don’t you think?”

Yuuri nods, and Viktor knows Yuuri knows exactly what he means.

“And why do I terrify you?” The notion is absurd. Viktor would never want to do anything to make Yuuri feel hurt or sad or embarrassed or disrespected or—

“I’m not usually a happy person,” Yuuri interrupts Viktor’s racing thoughts. Viktor knows the feeling. Yuuri draws a shuddering breath. “And you make me so, so _happy_.” He says the word as though he can scarcely believe it. “I’m scared of that. Of losing it. Of the thought I could make another person feel half of what I feel, because then I feel so responsible for you, and when I hurt you the way I did, when I made you so miserable and broken—”

“Yuuri.” Viktor takes Yuuri’s face in his hands. “I’m happiest when you’re being you and not trying to please everyone at once. Just love me, and let me love you, and I’ll be the happiest man alive.”

A tear slips down Yuuri’s cheek. He’s an angel when he cries, really. Viktor kisses the glistening droplet from Yuuri’s face.

“I take a long time to change,” Yuuri warns.

“I _know_ ,” Viktor says, sobbing out a laugh. He’s giddy. “It’s one of the thousand things I love about you.”

-

It's the night before Yuri's free skate programme, and they sleep entwined again.

-

“Don’t worry. You can win gold, Yuuri. Believe in yourself.”

“Hey, Viktor. You said before that you want to stay true to yourself, right? Don’t suddenly start trying to sound like a coach now.” Viktor, practically swooning, tightens his grip on Yuuri’s hands. “I want to smile for my last time on the ice.” It suddenly hurts again.

“Yuuri, listen to me,” Viktor murmurs, the roar of the audience for Phichit’s score announcement falling to a low background hum. “I debated whether I should tell you this now, but… I took a break after becoming the five-time world champion to coach you. So how is it possible that you still haven’t won a single gold medal?” It might be a mean thing to say, but Viktor wants to get married, badly. He needs Yuuri to know how desperately he wants to live the rest of his days with Yuuri, maybe even raise a family together. Gold would make this inevitable. “How much longer are you going to stay in warm-up mode?” Yuuri’s big brown eyes, the ones Viktor fell into a year ago, widen with surprise. Viktor draws Yuuri into a hug, their waists awkwardly separated by the rinkside boards. “I really want to kiss the gold medal,” Viktor whines in Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri draws back a moment, and, upon seeing Viktor’s earnest expression, bursts into tears.

When Viktor realizes Yuuri has added another quad to his routine, for a total of four quads, his heart all but stops: Yuuri is serious. He wants to marry too, and he’s skating like his life depends on it. Viktor, choked up, holds onto the boards and leans over the ice to get a better look at his star, his love, his Yuuri. When Yuuri lands his last jump, a quadruple flip, Viktor can’t hold it in any longer. He sobs into his cupped hands, because he knows, he knows, Yuuri wants it all too. Yuuri ends his routine with a trailing gesture, fingers splayed, reaching out to Viktor from across the ice. Well, there’s hardly any ambiguity in that, is there?

“Yuuri!” Viktor cries from the boards, arms out, ready to fold Yuuri into his embrace. Yuuri stands at centre ice, gazing at him, cheeks shining with fresh tears and the sweat of exertion required for such a perfect performance.

Yuuri breaks Viktor’s long-time world record, and Viktor couldn’t be prouder. He also couldn’t be more inspired. They shake hands and Viktor hauls Yuuri into a public embrace in the kiss and cry. “Congratulations, Yuuri. Having you and Yurio beat my records is the ultimate bliss as your choreographer and coach, but it’s the ultimate diss as a competitor.”

“Huh?” Yuuri’s flushed from his skate, but he colours a shade darker at Viktor’s words. “Does that mean you’ll come back?” Viktor smiles softly. He doesn’t need to answer.

Viktor tells Yakov next. It’s hard to tell whether Yakov is pleased. It’s hard to tell if Yurio is, at first.

“Hey, does that mean the pork cutlet bowl’s retiring?” Yurio demands, grabbing Vikor by the shoulder. There’s a frantic expression on Yurio’s face.

Viktor shrugs. He wishes he knew. “That’s his decision. He said he’d decide after the Grand Prix Final was over.” Yurio, stunned into silence, looks devastated. Viktor, overcome with emotion as he has been for days now, pulls Yurio into a one-sided hug, and then says something he knows is pure selfishness but absolutely necessary. “Don’t forget what it is you want,” he whispers. “Now is the time to take off.” He supposes he could make the argument he says this for both Yurio and Yuuri’s professional development. But really, Viktor just wants what he and Yuuri have shared to continue as long as it can. So Viktor isn’t even mad as he watches Yuuri knocked to second place when Yurio scrapes into first by a margin of 0.12 points. He doesn’t even hide his Cheshire grin when Yuuri tackles him after the award ceremony and begs Viktor to coach him another year.

As planned.

-

Skating Yuuri’s exhibition together, as coach and protégé, as competitors, as _equals_ , unabashedly showing their love for one another, fills Viktor’s heart to the brim. He wonders if it’s possible to be happier than he is when Yuuri lifts him, hands solid and supportive around Viktor’s waist as he smiles up at Viktor with undiluted love. They keep the kiss.

Well, there is one thing that would make Viktor happier, he supposes. A gold medal for Yuuri, and a wedding for them both.

Perhaps next year. For now, this will do. It will do very nicely. 


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a silly something as a teaser of things to come in the ‘Gentleman in the Streets, Freak in the Sheets’ smutty spinoff. 
> 
> If you want spinoffs of a different nature—one-shot AUs, Yurio's or others' perspectives, psychological explorations, more angst, more fluff, more smut, etc.—let me know!

They’re packing to move to Russia together when Viktor uncovers something that changes the private dynamics he shares with Yuuri: a blue collar in the recesses of Yuuri’s closet. The collar has a little hanging tag. Viktor can read enough katakana now that he knows what it says. It says “Viktor”.

“Um, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, standing and turning around. The collar hangs in his fist.

Viktor adores Yuuri, he really does. He had no idea Yuuri was such a kinky guy, or that their relationship had reached this stage, but hey, he’ll go with it.

“Hmm?” Yuuri looks up. He’s on the other side of his room, sorting old trophies and medals into boxes. He catches sight of the trailing collar. His mouth drops open. “Oh no, that’s not—I mean, that’s not for you. That was, um—”

“It’s OK,” Viktor says, coming to stand beside Yuuri. “I’m a pretty go with the flow kind of guy.” He swoops down and pecks Yuuri on the lips. Yuuri gawks at him.

“Um. I mean. I’ve had that since I was twelve.”

Viktor stares. He knew Yuuri had a celebrity crush for years, but twelve seems a bit precocious for this sort of thing.

“No, I mean, it was Vicchan’s,” Yuuri continues, seeing the surprise on Viktor’s face.

Viktor understands now, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s a little disappointed. “Oh, I see.”

Many weeks later, once Yuuri has joined Viktor in Russia after a torturous separation made barely bearable with Skype and hourly text messages, Yuuri presents Viktor with a gift. They’re seated alone together in the living room of Viktor’s— _their_ —condo. Viktor has already bestowed upon Yuuri a bouquet of a dozen red roses, which are now cut and styled in a vase on the coffee table. Yuuri gnaws on a hangnail as he watches Viktor curiously unwrap his gift, white crepe paper rustling as he bends it over the sides of the gold leaf box.  

“Oh, _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor breathes, when he sees the collar, handmade in Italy. A mesh of soft pink leather, Swarovski crystals, and silver hoops is nestled in the paper. And this one has a leash. “I love it.”

“Good,” Yuuri murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to Viktor’s ear. Viktor shivers, the crystals in his lap tinkling. “Why don’t you try it on, sweetie?”

 

_\- Fin -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this saga! I am intensely grateful for all the comments and likes and suggestions and requests and acknowledgements. You all give me fuzzies inside ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄♡‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎

**Author's Note:**

> Anything in particular you want to read? Be my muse and hmu with requests. Will include at my discretion.


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